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son injure  or  fail  to  return  any  book  taken  from  the  Li- 
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all  accounts  for  injuring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

Sec.  15.  Books  may  be  taken  from  the  Library  by  the 
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OFFICE    OF  THE  HESPERIAN, 
ROOM,    M).    34,    GOVERNMENT   HOUSE, 

N.W.  Corner  of  Washington  &  Sansome  St's., 
SABT    FKANCISCO. 

TERMS    OT?    SUBSCRIPTION  : 
PER  YEAR,  in  advance, $3  00 


MRS.  E.  T.  SOHENCK, Editor  pro  tern. 


CONTENTS  of  the  HESPERIAN  for  SEPT.  &  OCTOBER, 


CONTRIBUTIONS: 

A  DEFENSE  OF  THE  OPPRESSED,  By  W.  W.  Carpenter,  M.  D., 255 

THE  POET,  By  Duganne, , 2G1 

REVOLUTIONARY  REMINISCENCES, 262 

MARCH  OF  FREEDOM,  By  Eliza  A.  Pittsinger, 266 

RUTH  MAY,  By  Fanny  Green  Mcdougal, 269 

THE  ACRES  AND  THE  HANDS,  By  Duganne, 279 

SKETCHES  OF  MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  NEIGHBORS,  By  Mrs.  S.  M. 

Clark, 281 

TWO  PICTURES,  By  C.  H.  Dorr...... 288 

STICKY  GOLD  FLOWER,  (Illustration) 291 

MISS  PIATT'S  LILY,  (Illustration) 292 

POISON  OAK  AND  ITS  ANTIDOTES,  By  Dr.  A.  Kellogg, 293 

MISS  PIATT'S  LILY,  By  Dr.  A.  Kellogg, 296 

REMINISCENCES  OF  TRAVEL,  By  Mrs.  F.  II.  Day, 298 

MEMORIES  OF  OTHER  DAYS,  By  Anne  K.  H.  Fader, 303 

THE  WHITE  SLAVES  OF  LONDON, 304 

THAT  SILENT  MOON,  By  the  Rey.  G.  W.  Doane,, 306 

PATTERNS, 307,308 

SUMMARY  OF  FASHION 309 

EDITOR'S  TABLE 310 

Announcement Acknowledgment Gen.  Jon.  A.  Sutter Remi- 
niscences of  Travel,  No.  2 Miss  Aldrich's  Female  Seminary  and  Gym- 


J.    8TRATMAN    &     CO., 

WHOLESALE  AGENTS  TO  COUNTRY  DEALERS, 

N.  E.  Corner  of  Washington  &  Sansome  Sts., 

SAN    FRANCISCO. 
CHARLES  F.  ROBB1NS  &  CO.,  PRINTERS,  4L3  to  417  Clay  Street,  San  Francisco. 


PATTERNS. 


SPANISH   SLEEVE. 

Plain  coat  sleeve,  fitting  smoothly  to  the  arm, 
and  finished  with  a  deep  puff  at  the  top,  over 
which  a  cap  is  placed,  slashed  in  points.  At  the 
wrist  two  puffs  are  inserted  in  points,  the  points 
extending  xipon  the  arm.  This  sleeve  would  be 
handsome  in  silk,  or  poplin.    Price  50  cents. 


BISHOP  SLEEVE. 

This  is  a  very  beautiful  sleeve  when  made  up. 
A  plain  piece  at  the  top,  which  fits  to  the  ami, 
is  covered  by  three  puffs.  Attached  to  this  is  a 
small  bishop  which  gathers  in  at  the  waist,  so  as 
to  slip  loosely  over  the  hand,  and  is  finished  by 
a  deeply  pointed  cuff,  edged  with  narrow  gui- 
pure lace,  the  color  of  the  silk  material,  or  a 
narrow  quilling  of  velvet.     Price  50  cents. 


GORED    COAT. 

BACK  AND  FRONT  VIEW. 
This  may  be  made  in  silk,  in  dark  cashmere,  or  ladies'  cloth,  and  takes  eight  yards  of  single- 
width  material.  It  has  a  gored  sack  front,  but  the  back  is  laid  in  box-plaits  at  the  neck,  which  ex- 
tend out  in  a  graceful  fullness  of  the  skirt  behind,  while  the  straight  plaits  and  plainness  of  the 
shoulders  is  relieved  by  a  pointed  cape,  ornamented  with  a  quilling  of  the  same.  The  centre  of  the 
sleeve  is  laid  in  folds,  on  the  upper  edge  of  which  is  a  box-quilling,  this  also  finishes  it  at  the  wrist) 
where  it  is  quite  loose  and  open.    Price,  $1  00. 


©my* 


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MTJSIO     COMPOSED    EXPRESSLY    FOR    THE    HESPERIAN. 


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1.  Far        down 

2.  Oh,         out 

3.  I  see 

4.  Yet  the  soul 


in       the  wide  gray  ri     - 

of        a  deep  -  er  cur  - 

the  ma    -  pies  leaf 

hath  life      di  -  -   vi     - 


-  ver  The 

-  rent  The 

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oar  stroke  times 

life  that  was  spent 

rude  strain  swell 

ways  of  God 


the  sing 

and  van 

ing,  sink 

are  dark 


ished, 
ing, 

ness, 


The 
And 
In  the 
His 


song      softly  falls     with  the  oar,  And  an 

love    that  had  died      of  wrong,  And 

ca  -  dence  of  days     gone  by,  As  the 

judg   -    ment  wait   -   eth  long —  He 


e  -  cho  in  both  is 
hearts  that  are  dead  in 
oar  from  the  wa  -  ter 
breaks  the     heart    of  a 


nil  Sib. 


3~» 1; 


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zzrszzi: 


thought      to    hear      no  more, 

back      in  that  fisherman's  song. 

Rip  -  pies  the  mir  -  ror'd  sky. 

With  a  fisher  -  man's  care  -  less  song. 


~£ 


PITCHER-PLANTS. 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


Vol.VIIL]  MAECH,     1862.  [No.  1. 


THE  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 

WHAT  THEY   HAVE   BEEN  AND  WHAT    THEY  ARE.— THEIR  RELATIONS   WITH 
THE    UNITED    STATES    IN   THE   EXISTING    NATIONAL     CRISIS.— THE 
MODIFICATIONS  OF  THEIR  CHARACTER  BY  THE  INFUSION 
OF  WHITE  BLOOD  AND  THE  CONTACT  OF   CIVIL- 
IZATION.—THEIR  PROBABLE  DESTINY. 


BY    JOHN     E.     RIDGE. 


ARTICLE  NO.  1. 

The  writer  proposes,  in  a  series  of  articles,  to  acquaint  the  read- 
ers of  the  Hesperian  more  thoroughly  than,  perhaps,  they  now 
are  with  the  race  which  preceded  their  own  on  this  continent. 
There  is  scarcely  any  portion  of  American  history  which  is  not 
in  some  manner  connected  with  that  race.  Their  acts  and  deeds 
are  interwoven  with  the  earliest  records  of  occidental  discovery 
and  settlement.  Scandinavian  adventurers,  from  Iceland  and 
Greenland,  saw,  fought  and  treated  with  them  long  before  the 
foot  of  the  great  navigator,  Columbus,  had  pressed  the  shores  of 
the  western  hemisphere.  French,  English  and  Spanish  history 
takes  note  of  them.  They  mingled  in  the  wars  of  our  first  great 
Revolution.  Their  war-whoop  sounded  in  the  memorable  contests 
of  1812,  and,  even  at  this  moment,  they  are,  to  a  certain  extent, 
arrayed,  in  common  with  their  white  brethren,  upon  one  side  or 
the  other  of  the  mighty  issue  now  pending  within  the  limits  of 
the  Federal  Union. 

Extensive  research  has  been  set  on  foot,  and  patient  labor 
exhausted,  to  ascertain  the  origin  of  this  remarkable  branch  of 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by  Mrs.   F.   H.  Day,   in   the   Clerks' 
Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Northern  District  of  California. 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


the  human  family.  Yet,  nothing  definite  is  known  as  to  the 
source  from  which  they  sprung ;  and,  while  there  are  parallel- 
isms, social  and  religious,  between  them  and  Oriental  nations, 
still  the  differences  in  other  points  are  so  wide,  radical  and  strik- 
ing as  to  settle  the  rational  mind  in  the  conclusion  that  this  peo- 
ple are  either  indigenous  to  the  continent,  or  that  the  period  of 
their  arrival  is  so  remote  in  the  past  as  to  have  effected,  through 
climatic,  geographical  and  other  causes,  a  complete  change  in 
their  primordial  character.  They  possess  idiosyncrasies,  mental 
and  physical,  which  mark  them  as  a  distinct  and  peculiar  race. 
Except  in  those  ordinary  habits  which  are  common  to  humanhVy 
in  the  savage  condition  all  the  world  over,  the  red  men  of  the 
western  continent  are  essentially  unlike  the  red  men  of  the  East. 
The  religious  tenets,  customs  and  ceremonies  of  the  Indians 
have  been  more  often  cited  than  any  other  evidence  as  indicating 
an  Oriental  descent ;  but  it  seems  to  us  that  the  occasional  coin- 
cidence of  mythological  notions  and  devotional  practices  is,  with 
better  reason,  to  be  attributed  to  that  general  constitution  of  the 
human  mind  which  leads  it  to  a  belief  in  spiritual  existences  and 
to  a  recognition  of  higher  powers  than  those  which  belong  to 
man.  Like  the  Greeks,  they  had,  and  still  have,  their  multitu- 
dinous spirits,  haunting  woods,  rocks  and  streams.  Like  them, 
they  offered  sacrifices  and  consulted  oracles.  Like  the  Persians 
and  Chaldeans,  they  paid  adoration  to  the  sun.  Like  the  follow- 
ers of  Zoroaster,  they  held  fire  to  be  a  symbol  of  the  Deity,  and 
made  it  sacred  in  chosen  places.  Like  the  Jews  and  many  of 
the  Gentiles,  both  of  the  Christian  and  ante-Christian  era,  they 
believed  in  a  dualistic  principle  of  good  and  evil  in  the  moral 
universe.  Like  the  Egyptian  priests  and  the  Pythagorians,  they 
had  faith  in  the  transmigration  of  souls.  Like  numerous  other 
nations,  they  placed  great  reliance  in  the  revelations  of  dreams. 
Like  the  Salemites  of  New  England,  they  believed  in  witchcraft 
and  executed  witches.  In  this  manner  might  a  parallel  of  many 
and  various  resemblances  be  kept  up  to  an  indefinite  extent ;  but 
the  result,  in  thus  undertaking  to  arrive  at  a  conclusion  as  to  the 
origin  of  the  Indian  tribes,  would  simply  be  a  complete  mystifi- 
cation of  the  speculator,  for  it  is  rational  to  concede  that  the 


THE   NOETH  AMERICAN   INDIANS. 


Indian  cannot  be  descended  from  all  the  branches  of  the  Old 
World  stock  at  one  and  the  same  time,  whose  tenets  and  prac- 
tices have  been,  in  some  manner,  similar  to  his  own. 

The  character  of  the  North  American  Indian  proper  is  the 
subject  now  before  us.  Under  this  denomination  we  include 
those  great  groups  who  were  found,  by  the  early  voyagers  and 
explorers,  along  the  northern  lakes,  along  the  Alleghanies,  along 
the  coasts  of  Florida  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  in  the  valley 
of  the  Mississippi.  Those  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains — the 
Utah,  Oregon  and  California  Indians — are  not  the  best  specimens 
of  the  race,  if,  indeed,  they  belong  at  all  to  the  same  stock,  and 
we  shall  consider  them  separately  and  with  careful  distinctness 
hereafter.  The  tribes  we  are  now  treating  of  are  those  who 
have  manifested  the  traits  upon  which  the  immemorial  ideas  of 
Indian  heroism,  nobility  of  character  and  dignity  of  thought  are 
founded.  These  great  groups  are  divided  into  the  Athabascan, 
the  Algonquin,  the  Iroquois,  the  Achalaques,  the  Dacotah,  the 
Apalachian,  the  Chicorean,  and  the  Natchez  ;  each  group  em- 
bracing various  tribes  having  affinities,  either  proximate  or  re- 
mote, of  blood  and  language. 

The  Athabascan  group  were  a  warlike  race,  possessed  of  no 
arts  beyond  those  of  the  hunter  state,  and  came  down  from  the 
Arctic  latitudes.  They  had  traditions  of  having  landed  at  one 
time  on  the  shore  of  a  great  sea  in  the  north,  the  description  of 
which  answers  to  that  of  the  Arctic  Ocean.  They  were  met  by 
a  migration  from  the  southward,  headed  by  the  Algonquin  group, 
and  rolled  back. 

Setting  aside  the  Athabascans,  the  other  groups  named  were 
partial  cultivators  of  the  soil,  and  either  came  from  the  ancient 
Mexican  latitudes,  or  were,  at  one  time,  in  close  contact  with  the 
sun-worshiping  and  mound-building  Toltec  tribes,  who  made 
their  exodus  from  the  interior  of  Mexico  after  the  ascendency  of 
the  Aztecs,  carrying  with  them  northward  the  arts  of  raising 
corn,  making  pottery,  and  mound-building,  these  being  the  only 
remnant  left  them  of  the  antique  semi-civilization  of  their  parent 
country.  Certain  it  is,  that  various  United  States  tribes  have 
traditions  of  their  own  migration  from  the  southwest.      The 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


Lenno  Lenapes  say  they  came  from  the  south  and  west,  and  re- 
member crossing  the  Mississippi  river.  The  Shawnees  remember 
when  they  wTere  as  far  down  as  Florida.  The  Winnebagoes  have 
traditions  reaching  back  to  Mexico.  The  Muscogees  point  to  the 
time  when  they  resided  in  the  Red  river  valley,  west  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi. De  Soto  found,  high  up  on  that  river,  a  tribe,  the  Chi- 
gantalgi,  who  observed  the  worship  of  the  sun  with  all  the 
scrupulous  rites  of  the  ancient  Toltecs.  The  large  mounds  in 
Illinois  give  evidence  that  Toltecan  art  had  progressed,  by  some 
means  or  other,  thus  far  north  ;  and  traces  of  sun  worship  have 
been  found  as  high  up  as  Lake  Superior.  The  Natchez  tribe, 
who  were  descended  from  the  Chigantalgi,  retained  the  art  of 
mound-building  up  to  a  period  so  recent  as  the  settlement  of  the 
French  in  the  Louisiana  Territory.  This  advancing  Toltecan 
element,  if  it  did  not  become  infused  into  the  different  tribes 
whom  we  are  considering,  at  least  very  strongly  impressed  them  ; 
so  much  so,  that  broken  traces  of  the  Mexique  civilization  are 
almost  everywhere  manifest  among  them.  The  arts  learned  from 
the  Toltecs  existed  among  these  tribes,  to  a  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, until  superseded  by  the  superior  arts  of  the  Europeans. 
Corn-raising  is  now  carried  on  among  them  with  European 
implements.  Up  to  the  time  of  the  arrival  of  the  French  with 
their  brass  kettles,  pottery  continued  as  an  art  among  the  Apalach- 
ians.  The  only  aboriginal  art  of  any  consequence  which  seems  to 
survive,  is  that  of  pipe  sculpture,  which  remains  in  full  perfection. 
It  will  not  be  amiss  to  give  the  reader  a  somewhat  clearer 
idea  of  the  groups  above  specified.  The  Athabascan  group  be- 
long to  the  same  genus  as  the  Dog  Ribs,  Coppermine  and  Rocky 
Mountain  Indians  of  the  extreme  northern  latitudes.  At  the 
close  of  the  fifteenth  century,  they  were  found  in  the  region  of 
the  Churchill  river.  North  of  them  were  the  Esquimaux,  who 
include  the  extreme  northeastern  and  northwestern  tribes  of 
British  America.  They  have  reached  the  minimum  point  of  the 
Indian  race,  and  show  by  their  dwarfish  stature  what  singular 
effects  climate  may  have  upon  the  physical  character  of  man. 
They  are  the  Skroellings,  or  dwarfs,  spoken  of  by  the  early 
Scandinavian  adventurers. 


THE    NORTH   AMERICAN    INDIANS.  9 

The  Algonquin  group  includes  the  Miamis,  the  Weeas,  the 
Piankishaws,  the  Ottawas,  the  Shawnees,  the  Pottawottanries, 
the  Chippewas,  the  Sacs  and  Foxes,  the  Kickapoos,  the  Illinois 
and  the  Kaskaskies,  tribes  of  great  prowess  and  renown.  From 
this  group  sprang  such  men  as  Pontiac,  Black  Hawk  and  Tecum- 
seh.  Their  boundaries,  at  the  time  of  the  discovery,  were  very 
extensive.  They  met  with  the  Athabascan  group  in  the  region 
south  of  Hudson's  Bay,  and  after  desperate  fighting  possessed  the 
contested  ground.  Their  limits  reached  as  far  north  as  Labrador 
and  the  Missinippi  river  ;  as  far  west  as  the  source  of  the  Sas- 
kachawan  river,  and  to  a  line  along  the  Mississippi ;  as  far  south 
as  the  present  northern  line  of  Tennessee  and  North  Carolina ; 
and  as  far  east  as  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence  and  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  But  an  extensive  tract  was  blocked  out  of  these  boun- 
daries, and  occupied  by  the  Iroquois  group.  Traces  of  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Algon quins  were  found  among  the  Floridian  tribes 
and  the  Powhatans  of  Virginia,  partially  among  the  LeniLenapes 
or  Delawares,  and  in  sundry  dialects  of  New  Brunswick  and 
Nova  Scotia. 

The  Iroquois  group  comprised  the  Senecas,  the  Cayugas,  the 
Onondagas,  the  Oneidas,  the  Mohawks  and  the  Tuscaroras,  who 
were  combined  together  in  a  league  under  the  title  of  "  The  Six 
Nations  ";  also,  the  Hurons,  the  Eries,  the  Wyandots,  and  other 
tribes  whose  designations  do  not,  at  present,  occur  to  our  mem- 
ory. Of  this  group,  the  Six  Nations  make  the  principal  figure  in 
history.  Between  the  years  1600  and  1700  they  were  in  con- 
stant warfare  with  the  Algon  quins  and  Apalachians.  At  the 
close  of  this  period  they  had  conquered  very  nearly  all  the  Indian 
nations  occupying  the  territories  now  embraced  in  Delaware, 
Maryland,  New  Jersey,  Pennsylvania,  the  northern  and  western 
parts  of  Virginia,  Ohio,  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  Illinois,  Indiana, 
Michigan,  a  portion  of  the  New  England  States,  and  the  princi- 
pal part  of  Upper  Canada.  They  reached  their  culminating 
point  about  the  year  1700.  The  confederated  system  under 
which  they  lived  was  the  most  remarkable  example  of  native  po- 
litical sagacity  and  untaught  savage  forecast  that  occurs  in  all  his- 
tory, and  we  shall  treat  of  it  at  some  length  when  we  come  to 


10  THE    HESPERIAN. 


another  division  of  our  subject.  This  highly  intellectual  group 
have  furnished  a  roll  of  great  names,  among  which  may  be  men- 
tioned those  of  Red  Jacket,  Ta-yen-da-ne-ga,  or  Joseph  Brandt, 
Corn  Planter,  and  the  Cayuga  Sachem,  Logan. 

The  Dacotah  group  is  composed  of  the  great  prairie  tribes 
west  of  the  Mississippi,  such  as  the  Sioux,  the  Quapaws,  the 
Kansies,  the  Iowas,  the  Osages,  the  Pawnees,  the  Ottoes,  the  Mis- 
sourias,  the  Omahaws,  the  Aurickarees,  the  Minitares,  the  Man- 
dans  and  the  Winnebagoes,  all  lying  between  the  foot  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  and  the  Mississippi. 

Of  the  Achalaques  group,  the  principal  tribe  is  that  of  the 
Cherokees. 

The  leading  tribes  of  the  Apalachian  group  are  the  Musco- 
gees,  the  Choctaws  and  the  Chickasaws.  The  Achalaques  and 
the  Apalachians  formerly  occupied  the  Carolinas,  Georgia,  Ala- 
bama, Mississippi  and  Louisiana.  Their  descendents  are  now  re- 
siding in  a  territory  adjoining  Arkansas  and  Missouri,  are  far 
advanced  in  civilization,  and  are  the  owners  of  slaves.  It  had 
been,  before  the  breaking  out  of  the  present  national  difficulties, 
in  contemplation  to  incorporate  them  into  the  United  States,  first 
as  territorial  governments,  and  afterwards  as  State  sovereignties ; 
the  Supreme  Court  having  decided  that  the  Federal  Constitution 
in  no  manner  excludes  the  North  American  Indians,  in  due  pro- 
cess  of  law,  from  a  full  participation  in  all  the  rights  and  immu- 
nities of  citizens  of  the  United  States.  But  of  this  more 
hereafter. 

The  Natchez  group  were  the  descendents  of  the  Chigantalgi, 
who  had  close  affinities  with  the  Toltecs.  They  are  extinct,  hav- 
ing been  wholly  destroyed  in  their  fierce  wars  with  the  French  in 
the  ancient  Louisiana  Territory. 

The  Chickorean  group,  who  lived  on  the  coasts  of  Florida,  in 
a  portion  of  Georgia,  and  many  of  whom  were  carried  captive  by 
the  Spanish  to  the  mines  of  St.  Domingo,  have  lost  their  nation- 
alities, and  only  a  remnant  remains,  indistinguishably  incorpo- 
rated with  the  Muscogees  or  Creeks. 

All  the  groups  above  designated  possess  the  same  grand  char- 
acteristics of  physical  and  mental  type,  and  we  shall,  therefore, 
before  descending  to  the   particular   distinguishing  features  of 


THE   NORTH   AMERICAN   INDIANS.  11 

their  respective  nationalities,  proceed  to  describe  their  general 
character,  their  system  of  religious  belief,  and  their  social  and 
political  organization. 

The  physical  characteristics  of  the  Indians  are  unmistakable. 
The  hair  is  coarse,  long,  lank  and  black,  and,  except  when  mixed 
with  the  white  or  other  races,  almost  perfectly  straight.  A  mix- 
ture with  the  white  usually  causes  it  to  flow,  or  curl.  The  eye, 
when  not  excited,  is  somewhat  dull  and  sleepy,  but  when  aroused 
by  thought  or  passion,  is  lustrous  and  penetrating.  The  lips  are 
full,  but  compressed  ;  the  nose  prominent  and  dilated.  Yet  there 
are  singular  exceptions,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Mandans  of  the 
Missouri,  belonging  to  the  Dacotah  group,  whose  hair,  according 
to  Catlin,  is  generally  as  fine  and  soft  as  silk,  many  of  them 
having  hazel,  grey  and  blue  eyes ;  while  others  again,  of  both 
sexes,  from  infancy  and  youth  upward,  have  hair  of  a  bright,  sil- 
very whiteness.  The  women  who  possess  this  hair,  and  who  are 
quite  handsome,  are  very  proud  of  it. 

The  general  complexion  of  the  Indian  race  is  what  may  be 
called  brown  rather  than  "  copper-colored,"  which  is  the  term 
more  usually  employed  in  the  description.  Yet  there  are  many 
variations  from  the  rule,  which  are  the  more  remarkable  because 
they  are  not  at  all  dependent  upon  atmospheric  influences.  The 
Cherokees,  for  instance,  have  always  had  a  lighter  complexion 
than  the  adjoining  Muscogee  tribes,  and  travelers  among  them,  a 
hundred  years  ago,  saw  young  girls  of  the  tribe  who  were  nearly 
as  fair  as  European  females.  The  Mandans  are  still  more  fair, 
and  it  is  not  to  be  accounted  for  by  any  associations  with  Euro- 
pean stocks,  for  there  are  no  such  on  record,  however  remote,  nor 
do  the  traditions  of  the  tribe  point  to  anything  of  the  kind. 

The  skull  of  the  Indian  is  thus  described  by  the  ethnologist : — 
It  is  of  a  rounded  form,  the  occipital  portion  flattened  in  the  up- 
ward direction,  and  the  transverse  diameter,  as  measured  between 
the  parietal  bones,  remarkably  wide,  often  exceeding  the  longitu- 
dinal line.  The  forehead  lower  than  in  the  Caucasian,  receding, 
and  rarely  arched.  Cheek  bones  high,  the  maxillary  region  strong, 
with  teeth  singularly  free  from  decay.  Yet  there  are  striking 
exceptions  to  this  organization,  the  head  being  more  elongated  in 
its  structure  among  the  Maudans,  Ottoes  and  Blackfeet,  (Dacotah 
group),  while  among  the  Iroquois  and  Cherokees  there  is  greater 


12  THE    HESPERIAN. 


fullness  of  the  occipital  region,  with  more  lofty  and  arching  fore- 
heads. How  far  the  artificial  distortions  of  the  skull,  once  com- 
mon to  certain  of  the  tribes  under  consideration,  may  have 
affected  the  heads  of  their  descendents,  by  the  transmission  of 
like  from  like  in  the  process  of  generation,  we  are  not  philosopher 
enough  to  determine.  It  is  not  generally  known  to  the  popular 
reader  that  the  custom  of  flattening  the  head,  or  compressing  it 
into  an  unnatural  form,  which  is  now  practised  alone  by  the 
Chenooks  and  a  few  other  tribes  of  Oregon  and  British  Colum- 
bia, once  prevailed  among  many  of  the  aboriginal  tribes,  both  of 
North  and  South  America.  The  ancient  Mexicans  and  Peruvi- 
ans were  in  the  habit  of  moulding  the  head  into  forms  of  the 
most  grotesque  and  sometimes  frightful  character.  In  the  Old 
Catacombs  of  Mexico  and  Peru,  cranial  distortions  are  found 
which  would  set  at  defiance  the  profoundest  phrenologist  who 
ever  undertook  to  measure  the  human  intellect  with  a  pair  of 
compasses — heads  conical,  long  heads  and  square  heads,  heads  tri- 
angular, heads  elevated  and  heads  depressed  ;  heads  with  the 
moral  faculties  towering  up  like  a  mental  Chimborazo,  others 
again  with  the  bump  of  benevolence  utterly  annihilated ;  here 
the  lofty  arching  brow,  and  there  no  brow  at  all !  The  phrenolo- 
gist, after  running  over  a  hundred  or  two  of  these  heads,  would  be 
apt  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  mind  is  capable  of  work- 
ing in  almost  any  sort  of  a  hole,  and  that  the  elastic  brain  of  man 
would  perform  its  functions  as  well,  stretched  out  like  a  string  of 
sausages,  as  if  it  were  domed  by  the  brow  of  an  Apollo. 

It  is  well  ascertained  that  the  Natchez  tribe  compressed  the 
heads  of  their  children  into  an  upward  elongation  of  the  cranium, 
until  it  terminated  in  a  point.  De  Soto,  who  met  this  people  in 
1560,  testifies  to  the  fact.  A  few  centuries  later,  when  we  next 
hear  of  the  Natchez,  there  was  no  evidence  of  the  custom  among 
them.  Yet  the  skulls  dug  up  in  their  grave-yards  gave  ample 
confirmation  of  the  testimony  of  De  Soto. 

The  Choctaws,  of  the  Apalachian  group,  had  the  same  cus- 
tom, but  varied  it  in  practice,  in  the  manner  described  as  follows 
by  Bartram,  the  naturalist :  "  As  soon  as  the  child  is  born,  the 
nurse  provides  a  cradle,  or  a  wooden  case,  where  the  head  repo- 
ses, being  fashioned  like  a  brick  mould.  In  this  part  of  the 
machine  the  little  boy  [for  Bartram  says  the  girls  were  not  so 


/ 


THE   NORTH   AMERICAN   INDIANS.  13 

honored],  is  fixed,  a  bag  of  sand  being  laid  on  his  forehead,  which 
by  continual  gentle  pressure  gives  the  forehead  somewhat  the 
form  of  a  brick,  from  the  temples  upwards,  and  by  these  means 
they  have  high  foreheads,  sloping  off  backwards."  (Of  course 
the  reader  is  aware  of  the  great  pliability  of  the  cranial  bones  in 
infancy,  which  is  the  secret  of  this  singular  moulding  process.) 
Such  was  the  custom  of  the  Choctaws,  a  nation  now  highly  civil- 
ized, deeply  imbued  with  Christian  principles,  and  having  a  glo- 
rious future  before  them. 

The  Waxsaws,  (also  of  the  Apalachian  group),  who  have  been 
extinct  for  centuries,  had  a  similar  custom.  The  child  was  laid 
with  its  back  on  a  flat  board,  and  a  roll  placed  upon  its  forehead. 
This  roll  became  a  sort  of  press,  which  was  guaged  according  to 
the  discretion  of  the  nurse.  It  made  the  eyes  stand  widely  asun- 
der, and  caused  altogether  a  frightful  appearance. 

The  practice  was  not  unknown  to  a  few  of  the  Muscogee  or 
Creek  tribes,  and  was  prevalent  among  the  Catawbas,  a  nation 
who  had  recently  come  from  the  north  at  the  time  of  the  dis- 
covery, but  were  probably  originally  from  the  south,  and  who 
were  in  alliance  with  the  Cherokees. 

The  physical  frame  of  the  Indian  is  one  of  great  strength,  ac- 
tivity and  power  of  endurance — cast  in  the  grandest  mould  of 
nature,  and  characterized  by  grace  and  majesty  in  attitude  and 
movement.  The  great  painter,  West,  on  beholding  for  the  first 
time  the  rescued  Apollo  of  the  Greeks,  exclaimed,  in  a  sudden 
burst  of  enthusiasm,  "  An  Indian  warrior !  "  Beit  remembered 
that  we  are  here  alluding  to  the  Indian  of  the  groups  heretofore 
named,  and  not  to  the  Indian  of  the  inferior  type,  whose  charac- 
teristics we  are  to  speak  of  hereafter. 

In  regard  to  the  mental  type  of  the  North  American  Indian, 
and  his  dispositional  traits,  the  judgment  of  the  world  is  pretty 
well  determined.  The  capacity  of  his  mind  when  directed  in  a 
certain  channel,  is  evidenced  in  the  indigenous  antique  civiliza- 
tion of  the  Mexique  races,  whose  progress  in  agriculture,  in  arch- 
itecture, in  weaving,  in  painting,  in  general  manufactures,  and  in 
various  of  the  arts  of  peace,  was  indeed  wonderful.  Yet  the 
effect  of  this  civilization  seemed  to  be  to  diminish  their  physical 
courage  and  to  abate  their  warlike  spirit ;  and  they  fell  an  easy 
prey   to   their   Spanish  conquerors.      This  mental   capacity  in 


14  THE   HESPERIAN. 


another  field  of  action  is  to  be  seen  in  the  great  energy  of 
character  of  the  tribes  which  branched  off  northward,  their  in- 
domitable courage,  their  skill  in  war,  their  dignity  in  council, 
their  power  in  oratory,  and  the  wisdom  to  which,  in  some  in- 
stances they  attained  in  the  organization  of  their  social  and  poli- 
tical systems.  At  the  time  of  their  discovery,  so  many  centuries 
had  separated  them  from  the  southern  stock,  that,  except  in  the 
faint  traces  of  an  original  worship  of  the  sun  and  moon,  and  a  few 
imperfect  remnants  of  Toltec  art,  they  had  become  an  entirely 
different  people.  Their  migration  northward,  while  it  robbed 
them  of  the  comforts  of  the  easier  southern  life,  had  trained  them 
in  all  the  accomplishments  which  belong  to  the  hunter  and  war- 
rior state ;  and,  perhaps,  the  noblest  specimens  of  the  rude  and 
savage  man — the  man  nearest  to  nature  in  his  deeds  and  aspira- 
tions— were  to  be  found  at  that  time  among  them.  Modifications 
of  character  have  of  course  occurred  by  contact  with  the  whites, 
but  we  are  speakiug  of  the  Indian,  pure  and  proper,  as  he  stood 
fresh  from  the  mould  in  which  he  had  been  cast.  The  early 
writers,  those  who  wrote  at  the  time  of  the  discovery,  agree  that 
the  intellectual  reach  and  scope  of  the  Indian  was  by  no  means 
inferior  to  that  of  the  uneducated  classes  of  civilized  nations,  and 
that,  in  the  faculty  of  expressing  himself  on  public  occasions,  in 
a  dignified  and  elevated  manner,  he  was  far  superior  to  them. 
His  oratorical  efforts,  bold,  striking,  and  metaphorical,  have 
usually  been  but  feebly  translated,  owing  to  the  fact  that  inter- 
preters at  the  Indian  councils  have  been  for  the  most  part  ig- 
norant men,  who  were  imperfectly  acquainted  even  with  their 
own  language. 

Pere  Lejeune,  one  of  the  earliest  French  Missionaries,  in  ~New 
France,  writing  from  that  region,  said : — "  I  think  the  savages 
in  point  of  intellect  may  be  placed  in  a  high  rank.  I  have 
scarcely  seen  any  person  who  has  come  from  France  to  this 
country  who  does  not  acknowledge  that  the  savages  have  more 
intellect  or  capacity  than  most  of  our  own  peasantry.1' 

Lafltan  said:  "They  are  possessed  of  sound  judgment,  lively 
imagination,  ready  conception  and  wonderful  memory.  They 
are  high  minded  and  proud,  possess  a  courage  equal  to  every  trial, 
an  intrepid  valor,  the  most  heroic  constancy  under  torments,  and 
an  equanimity  which  neither  misfortunes  nor  reverses  can  shake." 


THE    NORTH    AMERICAN    INDIANS.  15 

La  Potherie  said  of  the  Iroquois  :  "  They  are  the  proudest  and 
most  formidable  people  in  North  America,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  most  politic  and  sagacious." 

Charlevoix  remarked :  "  Their  eloquence  has  a  strength, 
nature  and  pathos  which  no  art  can  give,  and  which  the  Greeks 
admired  in  the  barbarians." 

It  was  the  characteristic  of  their  eloquence  to  strike  directly 
home  to  the  point,  and  to  fix  the  thought  in  the  mind  by  some 
terse  expression  either  of  bald  simplicity  or  startling  metaphor. 
"  I stand  in  the  path"  said  Pontiac,  in  1763,  to  the  British  com- 
mander who  was  entering  his  territories  with  a  military  force. 
"  The  sun  is  my  father.  The  earth  is  my  mother.  I  will  recline 
upon  her  bosom"  was  the  proud  speech  of  Tecumseh,  upon  find- 
ing no  seat  provided  for  him  at  the  council  to  which  he  had  been 
invited  by  the  whites. 

The  prodigious  memory  in  some  instances  possessed  by  them, 
is  illustrated  in  the  example  of  the  Indian  chief  who,  in  a  speech 
of  three  hours  in  length,  in  a  council  with  the  whites,  recounted 
the  history  and  main  features  of  all  the  treaties,  French,  English, 
and  American,  which  had  been  made  with  his  own  and  surround- 
ing tribes,  since  the  earliest  settlement  of  the  country,  together 
with  the  circumstances  of  their  violation  on  either  side  and  the 
retaliations  therefor. 

The  early  discoverers  were  struck  wTith  the  sublime  stoicism 
which  constitutes  the  Indian  philosophy — a  stoicism  which  was 
the  result  of  a  severer  discipline  of  the  will,  and  more  stubborn 
training  of  the  mind  and  nerves  than  were  ever  before  known 
among  any  people.  The  common  exhibition  of  this  stoical  self- 
control  was  the  imperturbability  of  the  Indian's  aspect  and  de- 
meanor, in  all  possible  situations.  His  bearing,  except  when  he 
chose  to  manifest  emotion,  was  that  of  unruffled  equanimity. 
Neither  joy  nor  grief  could  be  seen  upon  his  countenance.  Fear 
never  betrayed  itself  in  look  or  gesture.  It  was  beneath  his  dig- 
nity to  manifest  surprise  at  anything  he  saw  or  heard.  This 
studied  indifference  to  the  new  or  strange  caused  the  historian, 
Miller,  in  noticing  the  three  Cherokee  chiefs  who  visited  George 
II.  of  England,  a  long  way  back  in  the  past,  and  who  manifested 
no  emotion  whatever  in  the  midst  of  all  the  splendors  of  the  royal 
court  into  which  they  were  ushered,  to  accuse  them  of  natural 


16  THE    HESPERIAN. 


stupidity  and  mental  sluggishness.  This  was  a  great  error,  for 
those  chiefs  afterwards  distinguished  themselves  for  the  very  op- 
posite qualities,  and  one  of  them,  Ou-ta-ci-te,  the  head  chief  of 
the  Cherokee  Nation,  was  remarkable  for  his  very  superior  intel- 
lectual powers,  Cherokee  tradition  naming  him  to  this  day  as  a 
renowned  warrior  and  a  very  great  orator.  A  king  in  his  own 
country,  a  lord  of  the  majestic  wilderness,  he  was  not  to  be  sur- 
prised into  childish  wonder  by  the  glittering  absurdities  and  os- 
tentatious parade  which  were  expected  to  awe  his  savage  mind. 

The  higher  exhibition  of  this  stoical  philosophy  of  the  Red 
Men  was  in  the  fortitude  with  which  they  bore  physical  or  men- 
tal suffering.  They  were  schooled  into  a  supreme  contempt  of 
pain,  and  bared  their  bosoms  to  the  shafts  of  fate,  with  a  poise  of 
intellect  which  was  truly  sublime.  Their  history  teems  with  il- 
lustrations of  this  wonderful  exaltation  of  will  and  heroism  of 
soul.  A  few  instances  which  occur  to  us  at  the  present  moment 
will  serve  as  examples. 

Ka-nah-je-a-ga,  or  Black  Kettle,  a  renowned  Onondaga  war- 
rior and  chief,  defeated  in  1690  a  French  force  under  Governor 
DeColheres  of  Montreal,  greatly  superior  to  his  own,  and  followed 
up  the  victory  by  devastating  the  French  settlements  in  Canada. 
The  Governor  was  so  enraged  at  the  triumphs  of  Ka-nah-je-a-ga 
that  he  caused  an  Onondaga  captive  to  be  tortured  to  death  in 
the  most  horrible  manner.  His  feet  and  hands  were  burnt  with 
red-hot  irons,  his  sinews  pulled  out,  his  joints  wrung  off,  his  scalp 
torn  from  his  head,  and  red-hot  sand  poured  upon  his  naked  skull. 
Through  all  these  torments  he  uttered  not  a  groan,  and  sung  his 
death  song  in  proud  defiance  of  his  enemies. 

A  more  remarkable  instance  than  even  this,  of  the  effects  of 
the  stern  training  to  which  the  Indian  mind  was  subject,  was  wit- 
nessed by  the  good  missionary,  Father  Chamounot,  who  stood  by 
unable  to  prevent  the  horrible  performance.  A  small  boy  of  the 
Erie  Nation,  then  at  war  with  the  Onondagas,  had  been  captured 
by  the  latter.  He  was  burnt  at  the  stake  and  died,  after  two 
hours  of  torture,  with  all  the  heroism  of  a  mature  warrior. 

Their  stoicism  is  often  dictated  by  a  sense  of  honor  so  nice 
that  it  can  scarcely  be  appreciated  by  a  civilized  mind.  Mr. 
Webster,  who,  for  a  considerable  period,  held  office  in  the  State 
of  New  York,  being  Justice  of  the  Peace  and  Supervisor  of  the 


THE   NORTH  AMERICAN   INDIANS.  17 

town  of  Onondaga,  and  who  in  earlier  life  had  lived  among  the 
Onondaga  Indians,  related  the  following  :  "  A  young  brave  of 
the  Cayuga  Nation  one  morning  presented  himself  before  the 
chiefs  of  the  Onondagas,  who  were  sitting  at  the  door  of  the 
council-house.  The  young  man  said:  'I  have  come  to  dwell 
among  you  and  your  people,  if  you  will  permit.  I  have  left  for- 
ever the  home  of  my  father  and  the  hearth  of  my  mother.  I 
seek  a  home  with  you ;  my  name  is  Mantinoah,  deny  me  not.' 
The  eldest  chief  replied :  '  Mantinoah,  you  are  welcome — sit  you 
clown  with  us.  Be  our  son — we  will  be  to  you  a  father.  You 
can  hunt  and  fish  with  our  young  men,  and  tread  the  war  path 
with  the  braves  of  our  nation.  You  shall  be  honored  as  you 
deserve.'  Two  years  passed  away,  and  Mantinoah  was,  appar- 
ently, the  most  contented  and  happy  of  all  the  young  people — 
loud  in  the  song,  and  free  in  the  dance.'  A  warm  friendship 
grew  up  between  him  and  Webster.  Mantinoah  said  to  his  friend 
one  morning  :  '  I  must  soon  leave  your  peaceful  valley  forever — 
I  go  towards  the  setting  sun.  I  have  a  vow  to  fulfil.  My  na- 
tion and  my  friends  know  Mantinoah  will  be  true.  M}r  friend,  I 
desire  you  to  go  with  me.'  Webster  consented.  After  a  jour- 
ney of  three  or  four  days,  they  arrived  near  the  village  of  the 
Cayugas,  which  Mantinoah  had  left  two  years  before.  '  Here,' 
said  the  young  brave,  '  let  us  rest.  Let  us  here  invoke  the  Great 
Spirit  to  grant  us  strength  to  pass  triumphantly  through  the  scenes 
of  this  day.  Here  we  will  eat,  and  here,  for  the  last  time,  smoke 
the  pipe  of  peace  and  friendship  together.'  After  their  repast, 
Mantinoah  told  his  friend  that,  two  years  before,  in  his  native  vil- 
lage, in  a  burst  of  passion,  he  had  slain  his  bosom  friend.  The 
chiefs  of  the  nation  had  declared  him  guilty  of  his  friend's  blood, 
and  in  accordance  with  the  law,  had  decreed  his  death.  The 
nearest  of  kin  to  him  he  slew  was  to  become  his  executioner. 
But  his  execution  was  deferred  for  two  years,  during  which  time 
he  was  to  remain  in  banishment,  and  afterwards  return,  a  solemn 
vow  being  received  from  him  to  that  effect.  Said  he  to  Webster, 
in  conclusion :  '  The  term  of  two  full  years  expires  this  day, 
when  the  setting  sun  sinks  behind  the  topmost  branches  of  yon- 
der tree.  Beneath  this  venerable  oak,  where  we  now  stand,  at 
the  foot  of  this  rock  against  which  I  now  lean,  I  stand  -.prepared 
to  receive  my  doom.  My  friend,  we  have  had  many  a  cheerful 
2 


18  THE    HESPERIAN. 


sport  together  ;  our  griefs  have  been  few.  Look  not  so  sad  now, 
but  let  new  joys  arouse  you.  When  you  return  to  the  Ononda- 
gas,  bear  witness  that  Mantinoah  died  like  a  true  brave  of  the 
Cayugas  ;  that  he  trembled  not  at  the  approach  of  death,  like  the 
coward  pale-face,  nor  shed  tears  like  a  woman.  My  friend,  take 
my  belt,  my  knife,  my  hunting-pouch,  my  horn  and  my  rifle 
accept  them  as  mementos  of  our  friendship.  I  shall  need  them 
no  longer;  a  few  moments  and  the  avenger  will  be  here;  the 
Great  Spirit  calls;  I  am  ready.  Mantinoah  fears  not  to  die. 
Farewell !'  In  vain  Webster  remonstrated  against  his  determi- 
nation. A  loud  whoop  was  heard  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 
Mantinoah  answered  with  a  shout.  A  solitary  Indian  approached 
and  took  Mantinoah  by  the  hand  in  kindly  salutation.  It  was 
the  avenger,  who  had  also  been  his  friend,  and  who  thus  addressed 
him  :  '  Mantinoah,  you  have  slain  my  brother.  Our  laws  declare 
me  your  executioner.  Your  time  is  come ;  death  is  at  hand ;  pre- 
pare to  meet  him.  Be  steadfast ;  be  firm,  and  may  the  Great 
Spirit  sustain  you.'  Mantinoah  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast, 
with  no  sign  of  fear,  and  calmly  awaited  his  doom.  The  glitter- 
ing tomahawk  of  the  avenger  descended  ;  its  keen  edge  sank  deep 
into  the  brain  of  the  victim,  and  he  fell  without  a  groan." 

The  lack  of  fortitude  displayed  by  white  men,  captured  and 
put  to  the  torture,  excited,  in  those  old  days  of  blood  and  strife, 
the  deepest  contempt  of  the  Indians. 

[To  be  continued.] 


Beatiful  Sentiment. — A  mother's  love  !  How  thrilling  the 
sound  !  The  angel  spirit  that  watched  over  our  infant  years  and 
cheered  us  with  her  smiles  !  Oh  !  how  faithfully  does  memory 
cling  to  the  fast  fading  mementos  of  a  parent's  home,  to  remind 
us  of  the  sweet  counsels  of  a  mother's  tongue  !  And  oh,  how 
instinctively  do  we  hang  over  the  scenes  of  our  boyhood,  bright- 
ened by  the  recollections  of  that  waking  eye  that  never  closed 
while  a  single  wave  of  misfortune  or  danger  sighed  around  her 
child  !  Like  the  lone  star  of  the  heavens  in  the  deep  solitude  of 
nature's  night,  she  sits  the  presiding  divinity  of  the-  family  man- 
sion, its«delight  and  its  hope,  when  all  around  is  overshadowed 
with  the  gloom  of  despondency  and  despair. 


POEMS 


BY  E.  AMANDA   SIMONTON. 


Only  through  melodious  utterance  poets  stand  confessed  and  crowned, 
Yet  some  souls  make  life-long  music  in  a  rhythmic  hush  profound. 

The  wide  universe  is  a  poem,  marvellous  as  the  Infinite  Mind, — 
Star-worlds  are  the  golden  strophes,  filled  with  splendors  undivined. 

Soul-fraught  poems  in  carved  marbles  speak  rebuke  for  wrongs  of  men, 
Where  the  tablet  is  enduring,  and  the  chisel  is  the  pen. 

Harmonic  poems,  wordless,  vibrant,  a  divine  impulsion  own, 
Lifting  up  the  listening  peoples  one  step  nearer  to  the  Throne. 

Iliads  in  prismatic  colors  on  the  glowing  canvas  tell 

Truths  profound  to  climes  and  ages  by  a  speech  made  visible. 

Every  pure  deed  is  a  poem  which  recording  angels  name, 
Tracing  it  on  scrolls  of  sapphire  in  imperishable  flame. 

Waning  cycles  may  list  vainly  for  a  bardic  voice  supreme, 

Yet  true  lives  are  grander  epics  than  the  mightiest  poets  dream. 


Wonders  of  the  Heavens. — Sir  John  Herschel,  in  his  essay- 
on  the  power  of  the  telescope  to  penetrate  into  space,  says  there 
are  stars  so  infinitely  remote  as  to  be  situated  at  the  distance  of 
twelve  millions  of  millions  of  millions  of  miles  from  our  earth  ; 
so  that  light,  which  travels  with  a  velocity  of  twelve  millions  of 
miles  in  a  minute,  would  require  two  millions  of  years  for  its 
transit  from  those  distant  orbs  to  our  own  ; — while  the  astro- 
nomer, who  should  record  the  aspect  or  mutations  of  such  a 
star,  would  be  recording,  not  its  history  at  the  present  day,  but 
that  which  took  place  two  millions  of  years  gone  by.  What  is 
our  earth  in  space  so  almost  infinite ;  and  still  more,  what  is  man 
that  he  should  be  the  special  object  of  regard  to  the  infinite  Au- 
thor of  this  system  of  worlds! 


THE  TESTIMONY  OF   MAN'S  SENTIMENT  TOUCHING 
THE  RANK  OF  WOMAN. 


BY   MRS.    E.    W.    FARNHAM. 


Having  thus  far  shown,  according  to  my  ability  and  opportunity, 
the  grounds  of  my  appeal  to  the  Scriptural  Theology,  to  Mytho- 
logy, Art  and  History  in  behalf  of  Woman,  I  proceed  to  the 
broader  and  more  fertile  field  which  is  most  conveniently  desig- 
nated by  the  caption  to  this  section,  the  Popular  Sentiment  and 
Common  Observation  of  Humanity,  with  regard  to  her. 

Much  of  these  are  already  shown  in  the  Arts  expressive  of 
them,  which  the  People  revere  ;  in  the  Poetry  which  they  re- 
ceive and  love  because  it  illustrates  more  perfectly  than  any  form 
of  expression  which  they  can  command,  their  own  thoughts  and 
feelings  :  and  in  the  Annals  of  Life,  which,  whatever  their  errors 
and  poverty,  the  People  accept  as  authentic,  because  they  con- 
tain so  much  truth,  as  to  persons  and  events,  that  there  is 
greater  profit  in  having  them  alone,  (till  better  come),  than  in 
being  without  any. 

Human  Sentiment  is  before  all  forms  of  its  expression  ;  and 
Sculpture,  Painting,  Poetry  and  Music,  the  Arts  which  serve  its 
highest  attained*  development  in  this  life,  have  their  appeal  to 
us  in  confirming,  not  contradicting  it — in  verifying,  not  setting 
aside  or  denying  those  truths  and  ideas  which  the  daily  and 
hourly  observation  of  Men  and  Women  testify  of  themselves  and 
of  the  world  of  objects  and  forces  around  them.  The  Arts 
spring  from  Human  Sentiment  as  a  stream  from  its  fountain,  and 
must  as  necessarily  exhibit  its  qualities  ;'  and  they  inspire  us  with 
their  nobility,  command  our  admiration  and  kindle  our  emotions 
or  passions  so  far  as,  in  their  treatment  of  human  life,  they  ex- 
press or  suggest  its  interior  as  well  as  its  outward  properties  and 
traits.  Hence  Sculpture  is  colder  than  Painting,  Painting  than 
Poetry  ;  in  the  perfect  languages,  Poetry  than  Music.  The  in- 
flexible and  ungracious  Marble  will  neither  receive  nor  reflect  the 

*  I  say  "  attained  development,"  because,  at  our  present  stage  of  growth, 
we  know  not  what  career  is  yet  to  open  for  humanity  on  the  earth. 


THE   EANK   OF   WOMAN.  21 

Spirit  as  colors  may.  If  Pygmalion  had  been  Beethoven,  a  god- 
dess had  not  been  necessary  to  put  a  soul  into  his  work.  He 
would  have  found  a  portion  of  his  own  there.  The  mechanical 
character  of  his  Art  is  further  felt  in  its  working  toward  instead 
of  from  a  centre — the  reverse  of  all  spiritual  outgrowth  and 
creation.  A  stroke  too  much,  and  perfection  falls  a  sacrifice  at 
the  feet  of  the  Artist.  Hence  Sculpture  will  never,  I  think,  be- 
come so  ready  an  art  of  Woman,  or  be  so  beloved  of  her  as  of 
man,  whose  less  subtle  nature  will  not  so  often  feel  itself  fettered 
in  the. unyielding  stone.  But  this  by  the  way.  To  return  to  the 
the  line  of  our  argument. 

The  acceptance,  through  the  Ages,  of  the  ideas  and  truths 
conveyed  by  any  art  is  unimpeachable  testimony  to  their  verity. 
They  could  only  exist  through  their  truth,  and  could  only  be  true 
by  being,  centrally,  if  not  in  their  length,  breadth  and  detail, 
one  with  the  sentiment  and  observation  of  Mankind  on  these  sub- 
jects. Thus  Painting  could  not  give  Woman  the  lineaments  of 
an  angel,  and  serious,  elevated  Poetry  could  not  address  her  as 
angelic  or  divine,  if  in  doing  so,  they  outraged  our  common  per- 
ception of  her  nature,  as  compared  with  that  of  man.  We  feel 
no  levity  in  such  recognition  of  her.  No  sentiment  is  shocked 
or  pained  by  it,  but  on  the  contrary,  when  the  lover,  artist,  poet, 
or  philosopher  attributes  to  her  a  higher  purity  and  divinity  we 
feel,  in  his  expression,  a  joy  which  is  deep  and  sacred  in  propor- 
tion to  the  depth  and  sacredness — otherwise  the  reality  and 
earnestness  of  the  perception  and  belief  in  him  from  which  it 
springs.  And  there  is  one  form  in  which  this  sentiment  of  man 
flows  more  or  less  into  every  woman's  life.  It  may  have  but 
a  transient  utterance.  It  may  even  be  quickly  followed  by 
hard,  abrupt,  cold  and  cruel,  or  brutal  denial.  It  may  come  to 
her  but  once  only  in  her  life — in  that  most  sacred  hour  when  a 
heart  and  life  are  laid  down  for  her  acceptance,  or  she  is  besought 
to  take  them  into  her  keeping  and  guidance — to  become  their 
sovereign.  It  may  be  like  the  swift  gleam  of  sunshine  that  de- 
scends in  an  Autumn  day  through  a  rift  in  its  black  cloud-conti- 
nent, which  closes  so  quickly,  that  ere  you  are  aware,  all  is 
darkness   again.     But  however  it  comes,  how  brief  so  ever  it8 


22  THE    HESPERIAN. 


stay,  it  enters  into  her  soul,  whence  it  can  never  wholly  vanish 
away  except  before  the  grim  presence  of  vice  and  degradation. 

Every  woman  that  is  born  cannot  look  upon  the  pictures  of 
Raphael  or  Guido,  Giorgione  or  Corregio,  Reynolds  or  Kneller, 
Page  or  Sully;  nor  read  the  verse  of  Petrarch,  Shelley,  Words- 
worth or  Spenser ;  but  every  woman  who  preserves  her  self-res- 
pect has,  once  in  her  day,  if  never  again,  a  lover,  who  declares 
that  she  is  to  lead  him  to  better  and  higher  things  than  he  has 
yet  attained  to — nay,  that  already  she  has  done  this,  that  the 
thought  of  her  has  moulded  him  to  higher  desires — shamed  him 
from  low  and  gross  indigencies — made  the  light  and  coarse 
speech  of  former  companions  seem  a  profanation  of  womanhood, 
which  he  has  come  to  revere  in  her  if  he  were  incapable  of  it 
before  ;  that  he  needs  her  for  his  own  redemption — that  with  her 
all  good  seems  possible,  without  her  nothing  but  desolation, 
weariness  and  even  ruin.  From  the  polished  man  of  the  world 
to  the  boor — from  the  elegant  scholar  to  the  hob-nailed  peasant, 
the  varieties  of  expression  in  which  this  sentiment  clothes  itself 
are  well  known. 

"  I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee, 

In  the  first  sweet  sleep  of  night, 
When  the  winds  are  breathing  low 

And  the  stars  are  shining  bright. 
I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee, 

And  a  spirit  in  my  feet 
Has  led  me — who  knows  how  ? 

To  thy  chamber-window,  sweet. 

"  The  wandering  airs,  they  faint 

On  the  dark,  the  silent  stream, 
The  champak  odors  fail, 

Like  sweet  thoughts  in  a  dream. 
The  nightingale's  complaint, 

It  dies  upon  her  heart, 
As  I  must  die  on  thine, 

O  beloved  as  thou  art !  "* 

Elsewhere  this  same  loving,  reverent  soul  pours  from  the  pure 
fountain  of  its  thought  and  emotion  these  lines  to  a  woman. 

*  Shelley. 


THE   RANK   OF  WOMAN.  23 

"  Seraph  of  Heaven  !  too  gentle  to  be  human, 

Veiling  beneath  that  radiant  form  of  woman 

All  that  is  unsupportable  in'  thee 

Of  light  and  love  and  immortality! 

Sweet  benediction  in  the  eternal  curse  ! 

Veiled  glory  of  this  lampless  universe  ! 

Thou  moon  beyond  the  clouds!  thou  living  form 

Among  the  dead  I  thou  star  above  the  storm  ! 

In  whom,  as  in  the  splendor  of  the  sun, 

All  shapes  look  glorious  which  thou  gazest  on  ! 

I  pray  thee  that  thou  blot  from  this  sad  song, 

All  of  its  sweet  mortality  and  wrong, 

With  those  clear  drops,  which  start  like  sacred  dew 

From  the  twin  lights  thy  sweet  soul  darkens  through." 

Here  is  another  lover  who  prays  like  this  poet,  in  other  and 
less  elegant  phrase  truly,  but  no  less  earnestly,  that  somewhat  of 
the  mortality  and  wrong  may  be  blotted  from  him  by  the  woman 
he  loves.  "  And  when  I  say  I  love  'ee,  I  beant  said  all — no  not 
all,  Joanna.  I  tell  'ee  there  be  summat  in  thee,  girl,  better'n 
what's  in  me,  great  big-bone  fellow,"  stretching  out  with  the 
words  his  huge  arm,  that  she  might  see  its  strength,  and  wiping 
the  dew  of  earnestness  from  his  craggy  features ;  "  an'  I  want 
thee,  Joanna,  t "help  me  along  up  to  thee." 

Did  Joanna  ever  think,  whatever  her  love  for  this  strong, 
reverent-hearted  man,  of  his  helping  her  up  in  the  same  way  ? 
Certainly  not !  No  woman  who  is  good  enough  to  kindle  such 
a  sentiment  in  a  man  ever  does.  She  looks  to  him  for  something 
assuredly  ;  for  love  which  she  craves,  for  kindness,  a  measure  of 
sympathy,  and  for  worldly  support,  but  not  for  incentives  to  a 
better  and  more  unworldly  life.  She  knows  that  these  must 
come  from  himself. 

"  When  I  approach  you,"  wrote  a  gifted  man  whose  name  the 
world  acknowledges,  to  the  woman  he  loved,  "  I  rise  into  a 
purer  atmosphere.  All  that  is  sordid  or  selfish  in  me  shrinks 
away,  rebuked,  from  your  presence,  and  I  am  shamed  at  the 
memory  of  plans  and  schemes  which  I  stay  neither  to  approve 
nor  condemn  till  the  clear,  calm,  heavenly  purity  in  your  eye, 
looking  through  me,  brings  me  to  measure  myself  and  them  by 
a  standard  which  I  find  nowhere  else.    Forgive  me  if  in  aspiring 


24  THE    HESPERIAN". 


to  companionship  with  you,  who  are  so  much  nobler  and  more 
unselfish  than  I  am,  I  acknowledge  that  love  is  not  the  only  mo- 
tive. What  is  the  other,  you  ask  ?  since  you  have  neither  fortune 
nor  the  recognized  social  position  which  the  world  as  often  com- 
mends as  censures  a  man  for  seeking  exclusively,  in  marriage?  I 
will  tell  you,  dearest,  I  heartily  desire  help  to  become  a  truer 
man.  I  pray  for  a  hand  that  will  draw  me  from  the  current  to 
which  years  ago  I  surrendered  myself,  and  which  is  now  bearing 
me  almost  irresistibly  on,  to  a  goal  that  in  my  heart  I  despise. 
You  have  consented  to  extend  me  yours,  and  in  my  soul  I  de- 
voutly thank  you.  Believe  that  I  speak  these  words  in  the 
earnestness  of  my  nature,  and  come  to  my  soul  with  yours,  held 
strong  and  high  for  my  rescue." 

When  a  man  of  common  stamp  loves  earnestly  a  good  woman 
of  his  own  class,  one  of  the  first  outward  evidences  of  it  is, 
the  desire  to  shake  off  some  coarse  or  vicious  habit  or  degrading 
association.  How  often  are  the  appetites  temporarily  checked  ; 
the  exalted  action  of  the  whole  nature,  no  doubt,  helping  to  these 
perishable,  spasmodic  movements  toward  purification,  but  the 
sense  of  approaching  a  purer  life  and  the  desire  to  make  self  fit 
to  meet  and  mingle  with  it,  being  the  first,  and  remaining  always 
while  they  last,  the  leading  incentive  to  them. 

Your  neat,  thrifty,  industrious,  good  Ellen,  or  gentle  Catholic 
Mary,  tells  you,  dropping  her  face  lower  and  lower,  as  you  en- 
quire about  her  lover,  that  "  he  has  promised  me,  ma'am,  to 
shtop  the  clrinkin,"  and  Bridget,  if  you  interest  yourself  in  her 
fortunes,  will  inform  you  that  "  sure  Patrick  thinks  a  dale  too 
mich  of  me,  Mam,  for  he  says  he'll  give  up  the  swearin  whiniver 
I  say  I'll  marry  him." 

The  self-respecting,  bright  Yankee  girl,  who  earns  her  wed- 
ding outfit  in  a  factory  and  looks  understandingly  forward  to  a 
life  of  hard  work  with  the  man  whom  she  choses  for  a  husband, 
does  not  like  that  he  should  defile  his  mouth  and  person  with 
tobacco.  It  is  not  only  offensive  to  her,  but  she  is  sure  that  it  is 
injurious  and  degrading  to  him.  "  I  shall  leave  it  off,"  he  says. 
"  I  can  do  it  very  easily,  for  since  I  have  come  to  think  of  you 
so  much,  I  often  forget  it." 


THE   RANK   OF  WOMAN.  25 

The  man  addicted  to  gaming  or  dissipation  of  any  sort,  swears 
that  it  shall  cease  in  honor  of  her  he  loves.  He  feels  that  she  is 
on  one  side  and  his  degradations  on  the  other.  They  do  not  be- 
long together,  and  in  the  days  of  his  love,  he  would  shudder  at 
the  thought  of  defiling  the  purity  and  good  he  respects  in  her  by 
familiarizing  her  with  them.  His  low,  loose  companions  never 
looked  so  low  and  gross  to  him,  as  since  he  has  met  them  occa- 
sionally fresh  from  her  presence ;  and  he  secretly  resolves  that  he 
will  break  off  from  them.  He  would  be  pained  and  shamed 
while  his  love  is  in  its  divine  phasis,  to  have  her  learn  that  he 
ever  mixed  with  them. 

"  I  long,"  says  a  rough,  hard-handed,  working  man,  writing  to 
a  nobly  cultivated  woman,  whom  he  loved  in  spite  of  the  wide 
social  distance  between  them  ;  I  long  to  sit  down  again  in  your 
little  crowded  library,  and  listen  to  your  interpretation  of  those 
glorious  old  and  new  poets,  who  always  before  have  seemed  to 
me  so  dry  and  dead.  You  will  not  be  Offended  I  hope  if  I  tell 
.  you  that  since  those  days  at  your  house  I  seem  to  have  come 
into  another  world.  Everything  is  brighter  and  more  beautiful. 
The  skies  look  softer  and  the  mountains  grander.  The  plains 
that  I  walked  over  in  coming  home  never  in  all  my  journeys 
showed  me  before  such  plesant  lights  and  shades.  The  Sea 
never  seemed  so  much  like  a  big-souled,  tranquil  companion  as 
I  walked  by  its  side.  And  it  was  becaus  they  all  spoke  of  you, 
my  good  friend  seemed  to  reflect  you.  You  were  if  I  may  say 
it,  back  of  each,  looking  through  it  upon  me  and  into  my  life. 
You  seemed  to  question  me  through  them  and  as  I  walked  along 
I  saw  myself  plainer  than  ever  before.  All  the  hardness  and 
worldliness  and  eagerness  for  gain  which  I  have  been  indulging 
ever  since  I  was  a  man,  stalked  out  before  looking  hateful  and 
mean  as  you  must  see  them  I  am  sure.  After  this,  you  will  see, 
I  must  be  a  better  man.  You  preached  me  a  sermon,  not  from  a 
bible  text,  which  I  shall  never  forget."      *         *         *         * 

The  chirography  of  this  manly  letter  was  very  rude  and 
cramped  ;  the  spelling  and  capitalizing,  as  will  be  seen,  occasion- 
ally at  fault,  punctuating  quite  overlooked,  but  one  does  not 
often  read  epistles  that  furnish,  in  themselves,  stronger  evidence 


26  THE   HESPERIAN. 


of  having  made  their  way  from  the  deepest  depths  of  the  life 
speaking  through  them.  "  And  what  of  this  man,"  I  asked  of 
the  woman  who  showed  me  this  letter,  suppressing  the  name  of 
the  writer,  "  has  the  faith  you  kindled  in  him  remained  a  living 
one? " 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "it  has,  in  a  thorough  and  most  satis- 
factory sense.  He  has  since  married  pretty  well,  I  believe— a 
woman  of  his  own  class — and  is  living  a  sound,  rational,  improv- 
ing life ;  tells  me,  when  I  meet  him  occasionally,  that  he  takes 
time  for  reading,  and  evidently  provides  himself  with  the  best 
books,  since  I  find  him  acquainted  with  them.  And  as  his  wife 
is  an  uncultivated  person,  he  will  have  to  act  the  woman's  part 
in  the  best  salvation  of  his  family — the  culture  and  direction  of 
his  children.  He  has  more  than  once  alluded,  with  impressible 
signs  of  gratitude  in  his  eyes,  to  the  experience  which  divorced 
him  from  the  pursuit  of  money  as  a  leading  purpose,  and  showed 
him,  as  he  acknowledges,  higher  and  more  worthy  objects  in  life." 

Here  are  a  few  lines  from  a  letter  written  years  ago  to  a  young 
friend  of  mine,  who  in  the  helpful  spirit  of  a  true-hearted, 
thoughtful  woman,  held,  as  opportunity  seemed  to  invite  to  it, 
an  occasional  earnest  conversation  with  an  ignorant  but  manly 
and  well-intentioned  young  mechanic,  who  was  employed  for  a 
time  in  her  mother's  house. 

"  I  don't  kno  as  I  shal  be  abel  to  tel  you,  Miss,  jest  what  I 
do  mean  in  sending  this  letter,  becaus  I  aint  mutch  ust  to  riting 
letters,  spessially  not  to  ladys  an  I  kno  I've  got  no  rite  too  say 
all  I  feal,  if  I  was  abel.  So  I  shant  go  on  to  tel  you  how  mutch 
I  love  to  hear  you  talk  and  sea  you  look  at  them  yure  talkin  too, 
and  the  good  it  dus  me.  Thoes  good  words  all  took  a  holt  of 
me  I  can  tel  you,  Mis,  and  I  haint  so  mutch  as  looked  at  a  piece 
o'  tobacker  or  a  glass  o'  whiskey  sence  I  seen  you  last  time,  an  I 
don't  bleave  I  shal  ever  want  to  agin." 

"  I  rise  to  your  presence,"  says  another  man,  "  and  am  dis- 
satisfied with  myself  and  the  world  on  leaving  it,  for  I  feel  that 
I  descend  into  outer  and  common  things  again.  That  I  return 
from  you  somewhat  nobler  after  my  visit  I  honestly  believe, 
because,  in  the  searching  self-analysis  of  these  deep  experiences, 
I  find  the  common,  the  selfish  and  ambitious  motives  of  former 


THE   RANK   OF   WOMAN.  27 

days  so  weakened  in  their  hold  upon  the  future  that  I  almost 
seem  to  see  them  falling  beneath  my  feet.  I,  who  have  been  so 
wedded  to  the  honors  and  goods  of  the  world.  What  is  the 
secret  virtue  in  your  life  and  speech  which  shapes  me  thus? 
Which,  with  never  a  word  of  preaching,  a  syllable  of  rebuke,  or 
a  spark  of  assumption  that  you  are  the  better  of  us  two,  does 
actually  transform  these  once  ruling  motives  of  my  life  from 
pleasant  and  shining  leaders  to  mean,  unworthy  tyrants,  whom 
I  despise  ?  In  my  wonder  at  my  own  present  state  of  mind,  I 
ask  myself  this  question  so  often  that  I  am  moved  to  repeat  it  to 
you.  Will  you  answer  it  ?  At  least  give  me  your  view  of  our 
present  relation,  and  tell  me  what  hope  you  see  of  its  perpetua- 
tion in  the  years  we  are  looking  forward  to." 

Momentous  question  and  inexpressibly  significant  prayer  this, 
from  the  heart  of  a  man  to  a  woman  !  I  shall  endeavor  to 
answer,  for  those  who  desire  it,  the  first  in  some  of  the  following 
pages. 

[To  be  continued.] 


The  victories  of  character  are  instant,  and  victories  for  all.  Its 
greatness  enlarges  all.  We  are  fortified  by  every  heroic  anec- 
dote. The  novels  are  as  useful  as  bibles,  if  they  teach  you  the 
secret,  that  the  best  of  life  is  conversation,  and  the  greatest  suc- 
cess is  confidence,  or  perfect  understanding  between  sincere  peo- 
ple. 'Tis  a  French  definition  of  friendship,  rien  que  s*  entendre, 
good  understanding.  The  highest  compact  we  can  make  with 
our  fellow  is,  "  Let  there  be  truth  between  us  two  forevermore." 
That  is  the  charm  in  all  good  novels,  as  it  is  the  charm  in  all 
good  histories,  that  the  heroes  mutually  understand,  from  the 
first,  and  deal  loyally,  and  with  a  profound  trust  in  each  other. 
It  is  sublime  to  feel  and  say  of  another,  I  need  never  meet,  or 
speak,  or  write  to  him  ;  we  need  not  reinforce  ourselves,  or  send 
tokens  of  remembrance;  I  rely  on  him  as  on  myself;  If  he  did 
thus,  or  thus,  I  know  it  was  right. 


LITTLE     FRANK: 

A  Tribute  of  Affection  to  his  Parents. 


BY   CORA   WILBURN. 


Weep  not  for  him,  his  rose-crowned  head  reposes 
On  the  gemmed  flower-earth  of  the  Summer  land  ; 

Watched  o'er  by  mother  hearts,  and  sweetly  guided 
By  tbe  Omniscient  Father's  loving  hand. 

Thy  own,  thy  beautiful,  exalted,  free, 

Dwells  in  the  shadow  of  His  Sanctuary ! 

His  laughing  eye,  the  Paradisean  valleys 

And  mountain  heights  of  soul-attainment  greet ; 

The  gold  and  azure  music-breathing  waters 
Of  Life  Eternal,  lave  his  baby  feet. 

And  Inspiration's  sunlight  o'er  him  streams, 

With  Love  immortal's  spirit  quickening  gleams  ! 

Linked  to  your  hearts  forever  more,  in  beauty, 
In  the  transcendent  bliss  of  Nature's  own  ; 

A  page  of  spirit-lore  now  opes  before  you, 
Whose  mystic  light  is  to  your  souls  unknown  ; 

But  seraph  hands  shall  rend  the  mourning  veil, 

And  bid  the  Heralds  of  our  Father,  hail ! 

Deem  not  afar  the  angel  child,  whose  mission 

Is  to  twine  'round  your  hearts  sweet  chords  of  love- 
By  whose  resistless  charm  of  prayer  and  duty, 

Ye' shall  be  drawn  unto  the  realms  above. 
Nigh  to  the  central  fount — the  heart  of  Him, 
Inspirer  of  the  Wisdom-Seraphim ! 

Soul  of  affection's  glory !     Life  of  all 

1  he  myriad  worlds !     Transcendant  mother-care, 
Whose  power  benignant  decks  the  starry  heaven 

And  singing  earth  with  tokens  bright  and  rare ; 
Safe  in  thy  all-encircling  arms  shall  rest 
The  earth-flower  taken  from  the  mother-breast ! 

Weep  not  for  him.     See,  on  the  golden  ladder 
Where  angels  come  and  go,  the  bright-eyed  boy, 


LITTLE    FRANK.  29 


Guided  by  guardian  Wisdom,  upward  glances 
Unto  the  opening  realms  of  future  joy  ; 

And  of  the  heaven-life  flingd  a  treasured  gleam, 

Over  the  mother's  reminiscent  dream  ! 

Weep  not  for  him.     Love  without  Bhade  of  sorrow, 
Glory  unbought  by  heart-pangs  of  renown, — 

Honor  and  joy,  unfading  as  the  laurel 

That  with  gemmed  lustre  decks  the  hero's  crown, - 

Shall  be  the  portion  of  thy  little  child, 

For  'twas  on  such  that  the  Good  Master  smiled. 


"Enlarge  not  thy  destiny,"  said  the  oracle:  "Endeavor  not 
to  do  more  than  is  given  thee  in  charge."  The  one  prudence  in 
life  is  concentration  ;  the  one  evil  is  dissipation  :  and  it  makes  no 
difference  whether  our  dissipations  are  coarse  or  fine ;  property 
and  its  cares,  friends,  and  a  social  habit,  or  politics,  or  music,  or 
feasting.  Everything  is  good  which  takes  away  one  plaything 
and  delusion  more,  and  drives  us  home  to  add  one  stroke  of  faith- 
ful work.  Friends,  books,  pictures,  lower  duties,  talents,  flatter- 
ies, hopes — all  are  distractions,  which  cause  oscillations  in  our 
giddy  balloon,  and  make  a  good  poise  and  a  straight  course 
impossible.  You  must  elect  your  work;  you  shall  take  what 
your  brain  can,  and  drop  all  the  rest.  Only  so  can  that  amount 
of  vital  force  accumulate  which  can  make  the  step  from  knowing 
to  doing.  ~No  matter  how  much  faculty  of  idle  seeing  a  man  has, 
the  step  from  knowing  to  doing  is  rarely  taken.  "Tis  a  step  out 
of  a  chalk  circle  of  imbecility  into  fruitfulness.  Many  an  artist, 
lacking  this,  lacks  all ;  he  sees  the  masculine  Angelo  or  Cellini 
with  despair.  He  too,  is  up  to  Nature  and  the  First  Cause  in  his 
thought.  But  the  spasm  to  collect  and  swing  his  whole  being 
into  one  act  he  has  not.  The  poet  Campbell  said,  that  "  a  man 
accustomed  to  work  was  equal  to  any  achievement  he  resolved 
on,  and  that,  for  himself,  necessity,  not  inspiration,  was  the 
prompter  of  his  muse." 


REMINISCENCES  OF  JOHN  PHCENIX,  ESQ.,  THE  VER- 
ITABLE "SQUIBOB." 


BY   OLD   BLOCK. 


The  Angel  of  Death  hatli  been  busy  the  past  year.  Many  a 
stately  tree  hath  been  cut  down ;  many  a  beautiful  flower  hath 
been  mowed  by  the  insatiate  scythe  of  Time  ;  many  a  brow, 
around  which  wreaths  of  fame  were  clustering,  hath  been  laid 
low,  and  hearts  have  been  made  sad  and  social  circles  broken  up 
by  the  Destroying  Angel,  who  respecteth  neither  high  nor  low, 
place  nor  position. 

Among  those  who  now  range  the  Spirit  Land,  and  who,  though 
they  may  be  happy  there,  have  left  a  wide  blank  among  friends 
on  earth,  is  the  genial,  warm-hearted  and  talented  wit — the  great- 
est that  California  ever  saw, — Lieutenant  Derby,  alias  John  Phoe- 
nix, nee  Squibob,  whose  writings  remain  as  an  enduring  evidence 
of  his  genial  nature  and  fun-loving  propensities.  It  was  my  good 
fortune  to  become  personally  acquainted  with  him,  and  a  warm 
friendship  always  existed  between  us.  While  he  was  convulsing 
the  citizens  of  our  State  with  laughter  over  his  inimitable  sketches, 
a  correspondence,  from  some  slight  cause,  which  sometimes  arises 
between  affinities,  commenced  between  us,  which  was  continued 
as  long  as  he  remained  in  California.  We  had  corresponded  for 
more  than  a  year  before  we  met,  and  I  know  that  I  enjoyed  it 
most  hugely,  while  postmasters  and  expressmen  were  vastly  tickled 
at  the  address  on  the  envelopes.  These  were  usually  either  picto- 
rial or  poetical,  or  both.  Uncle  Sam's  postage  stamps  were  most 
familiarly  turned  into  soldiers,  miners,  or  various  ludicrous  char- 
acters, for  Derby  sketched  to  admiration — very  much  better  than 
I  could  do.  If  a  letter  came  to  me,  either  by  post  or  express, 
directed  simply  to  a  profile  with  a  very  large  nose,  it  never  failed 
in  being  delivered  properly,  while  with  one  of  Uncle  Sam's  stamps 
turned  into  a  woe-begone,  ragged  soldier  reciting  a  poetical  super- 
scription to  Squibob,  he  as  surely  received  it.  For  more  than  a 
year  we  had  thus  corresponded,  and/^that  we  were  acquainted. 
I  had  long  desired  to  meet  him,  and  at  last  it  came  about  in  rather 
a  funny  way. 


KEMINISCENCES   OF   JOHN   PHCENIX,    ESQ.  31 

I  had  been  very  sick  with  fever.  As  soon  as  I  became  conva- 
lescent, I  went  to  San  Francisco  to  try  the  benefit  of  a  change  of 
climate.  While  there  the  Superintendent  of  Wells.  Fargo  & 
Co's  Express,  seeing  my  weak  condition,  proposed  that  I  should 
try  the  benefit  of  a  short  trip  at  sea,  and  very  generously  offered 
me  the  position  of  messenger  to  Oregon  for  one  trip.  I  most 
gratefully  assented.  I  may  as  well  say  here  that  the  trip  indeed 
restored  me  to  health. 

The  day  of  sailing  came.  I  had  been  most  cordially  recom- 
mended to  the  kind  care  of  Capt.  Dall,  whom  everybody  knows 
to  be  a  prime  sailor,  as  well  as  an  excellent  gentleman,  and  he 
discharged  his  trust  toward  me  in  the  kindest  manner. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  before  we  left  the 
wharf,  while  before  we  got(fairly  to  sea,  by  doubling  Cape  Reyes, 
afternoon  had  come.  Owing  to  the  hurry  of  getting  away,  no  din- 
ner was  got,  but  a  slight  luncheon  was  laid  upon  the  table  in  the 
cabin. 

The  hurry  and  noise  of  getting  our  freight  on  board,  with  the 
excitement  and  my  weakness,  had  nearly  prostrated  me  for  the 
time.  I  went  below  after  we  had  got  beyond  the  Heads,  and 
taking  a  hard  biscuit  in  one  hand,  with  a  handful  of  cheese  in  the 
other,  I  returned  to  the  quarter  deck,  muffled  up  in  my  heavy 
overcoat,  and  sitting  down,  shivering  with  cold,  I  munched  my 
bread  and  cheese  with  a  most  dismal  feeling,  with  all  the  ills, 
instead  of  the  pleasures,  of  life  running  through  my  brain.  While 
I  was  thus  engaged  in  masticating  my  sea-bread  lunch,  Capt. 
Dall  came  out  of  his  room  (which  was  upon  deck),  followed  by 
a  rather  short  but  plump,  and  round  but  pleasant-faced  man. 
They  approached  me,  when  Capt.  Dall  addressed  me  with,  "  Old 
Block,  permit  me  to  ■  make  you  acquainted  with  Lieutenant 
Derby."  I  was  completely  taken  by  surprise,  for  I  had  not 
dreamed  that  he  was  on  board ;  yet,  ill  as  I  was,  I  felt  the  blood 
rush  through  my  veins  with  pleasure  at  the  consummation  of 
what  I  had  so  long  desired — a  meeting.  I  slowly  arose  and  re- 
marked ;  "  Lieutenant,  I'm  glad  to  meet  you.  It  is  customary  in 
the  mines,  when  a  brother  miner  calls  about  dinner  time,  to  offer 
him  a  share  of  the  table ;  help  yourself,"  and  I  held  out  both 
hands  toward  him — one  filled  with  hard  biscuit,  and  the  other 


32  THE    HESPERIAN. 


with  cheese.  "Thank  you,  he  replied,  with  a  smile,  "I've  been 
to  dinner."  Then,  looking  at  me  steadily  for  nearly  a  minute,  he 
exclaimed,  with  some  emphasis :  "  Old  Block,  by  Jove,  you  have 
got  a  big  nose." 

As  that  was  a  trueism  I  could  not  deny,  I  acknowledged  the 
soft  impeachment,  and  we  sat  down,  feeling  that  we  were  old 
acquaintances.  Our  conversation  naturally  turned  upon  author- 
ship, writing,  etc.  "  There  are  two  things,"  said  he,  that  I  never 
could  do.  I  never  could  write  a  play,  nor  make  a  speech.  I  can 
lay  a  plot  without  much  trouble  ;  but,  like  Guy  Fawkes,  I  always 
get  caught  before  I  set  fire  to  the  train.  I  can't  keep  up  the 
dialogue.  I've  tried  it,  but  had  to  abandon  it.  Then,  as  for 
making  a  speech,  I've  tried  that  too,  but  I  always  break  down. 
Can  you  ?"  I  acknowledged  that  I  had  done  both.  "  How  the 
deuce  do  you  contrive  to  keep  up  the  dialogue  in  writing  ?" 

"  Generally,  by  identifying  myself  with  the  character  speak- 
ing." 

"  What,  villains  and  all  ?" 

Yes.  I  can  be  as  big  a  villain  as  any  of  'em  when  it  is  neces- 
sary for  the  development  of  the  plot." 

"  Humph !  appearances  are  deceitful.  You  don't  look  like  a 
cut-throat." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sick  now ;  I  feel  worse  than  I  look." 

"  In  that  case,"  he  replied,  "  I'd  better  look  out  for  my 
pockets." 

"  There's  '  honor  among  thieves,'  "  said  I,  "  I  would  scorn  to 
steal  from  a  brother  chip  ;  you  are  safe  this  time." 

Our  passage,  though  somewhat  rough,  was  enlivened  by  Der- 
by's ready  wit,  and  he  soon  had  the  passengers  around  him  laugh- 
ing at  his  fun,  while  I  really  believe  his  genial  humor  did  as  much 
to  restore  my  health  as  the  bracing  sea  air. 

We  were  passing  Cape  Mendocino  one  morning  after  break- 
fast. The  passengers  had  congregated  upon  deck  looking  at  the 
wild  scenery  along  the  shore.  Some  little  distance  from  the 
main  land,  and  what  seemed  to  have  been  at  a  former  period  a 
point  of  the  Cape,  arose  a  huge  pyramidal  rock  from  a  flat  rocky 
base,  as  if  it  had  been  built  by  human  hands  upon  a  broad  fouh- 


REMINISCENCES    OP   JOHN   PHCENIX,   ESQ.  33 

elation.  The  action  of  the  water  or  the  elements,  or  both,  had 
worn  a  cave-like  aperture  in  one  portion  of  the  pyramid,  till  the 
opening  presented  the  appearance  of  a  huge  castle  gate,  while 
distance  prevented  our  seeing  how  far  the  cavity  extended  into 
the  rock. 

"  What  cape  is  that?"  asked  some  one  in  our  group. 

"  Cape  Mendocino,"  was  the  response. 

"  Mendocino  !  a  singular  name.  I  wonder  what  the  origin  of 
it  was." 

"  Why,"  said  Derby,  with  the  utmost  gravity,  "  in  former 
days  it  was  an  important  fishing  station.  The  fishermen  usually 
occupied  that  cave  for  their  head-quarters,  and  fished  as  the  sea- 
son and  weather  permitted.  One  morning  two  boats  started  out 
and  threw  their  nets  over.  One  of  them,  by  some  mischance, 
had  their  net  badly  torn,  so  that  it  became  necessary  to  go  ashore 
for  repairs.  Accordingly  they  started,  when  they  were  hailed 
by  the  other  boat :  '  Where  are  you  going  ?'  '  Going  ashore.' 
'  What  for  V  Shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  as  if  to  over- 
come the  force  of  the  wind,  the  boatman  replied,  through  his 
trumpet-shaped  hand  :  '  To  mend  a  seine  O  !'  And  thence  the 
cape  took  its  name,  which  has  since  become  perverted  into  Men- 
docino." 

For  a  moment  no  one  thought  the  explanation  a  hoax,  as  it 
was  given  in  such  an  off-hand  ready  manner ;  but  a  moment's 
reflection  showed  me  the  ludicrousness  of  the  idea,  and  I  began 
to  laugh.  Directly  it  came  with  full  force  to  the  group,  and 
Derby  had  succeeded  in  raising  a  general  guffaw. 

"  You  know  where  Johnson's  Eanch  is,  on  Bear  River,"  he 
said  to  me  one  day. 

"  Very  well ;  I've  often  been  there." 

"  There  was  a  big  town  laid  off  there." 

"  Yes,  I'm  aware  of  it.     Didn't  amount  to  anything." 

"No,' not  a  single  house  ever  built.  Well,  I  laid  out  that 
town.  I  should  have  made  my  fortune  if  I  could  have  sold  my 
share.  A  gentleman  who  owned  the  land  proposed  to  me  to 
survey  the  ground  and  lay  it  off  into  town  lots,  offering  me  one- 
third  of  the  plot  for  doing  it.  I  saw  a  pile  was  to  be  made  out 
3 


34  THE    HESPERIAN. 


of  it,  so  I  consented,  and  we  laid  out  ground  enough  to  build  a 
New  York  on.  The  upshot  was,  I  lost  my  time  and  labor  and 
never  got  a  dime  for  it. 

"  Some  time  after  that  another  party  came  to  me  with  a  pro- 
posal to  survey  and  lay  out  another  town  on  the  Yuba,  offering 
me  a  very  large  per  centage  of  the  lots  for  doing  it.  But  I  was 
smart  this  time ;  I  wasn't  to  be  caught  again ;  so  I  put  my 
thumb  on  my  nose,  and  told  'em  they  couldn't  come  it.  I  had 
tried  that  game  once ;  'twouldn't  go.  Nevertheless,  they  went 
on,  got  somebody  else  to  survey  it,  while  I  laughed  in  my  sleeve 
at  them  for  green-horns.  Just  see  how  the  d — d  thing  turned 
out.  That  town  was  the  city  of  Marysville.  Had  I  done  it,  I 
should  have  been  rich,  but  my  luck  is  always  over  the  left. 

"  I  never  had  a  piece  of  bread, 
Particularly  long  and  wide, 
But  it  fell  upon  the  sandy  floor, 
And  always  on  the  butter'd  side." 

One  day  after  Marysville  had  become  a  city,  Derby  happened 
there.  At  dinner  there  was  on  the  table  a  nice  piece  of  baked 
veal — quite  a  rarity  in  those  days.  Derby  noticed  that  the  land- 
lord was  carving  it  into  quite  small  pieces,  and  inquired  why 
he  did  so.     The  landlord  leaned  over  toward  him  and  replied : 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Lieutenant,  there  is  but  little  of  it, 
and  I  want  to  make  it  go  as  far  as  possible." 

"  In  that  case,  I'll  take  a  large  piece,"  said  Derby,  handing 
his  plate,  "  I  think  I  can  make  it  go  as  far  as  anybody ;  I  am 
going  to  San  Diego." 

And  so  his  wit  was  always  ready,  and  seemed  to  flow  spon- 
taneously, without  effort.  He  seemed  to  throw  a  gleam  of  sun- 
shine over  every  company,  and  wherever  Derby  was,  there  was 
cheerfulness  and  fun.  His  works  are  left  to  us,  but  many  of  his 
personal  anecdotes  are  lost.  His  most  amusing  book  can  be  had 
at  A.  Roman's  book  store,  in  San  Francisco.  "Alas,  poor 
Yorick !" 


VICISSITUDE.  35 


The  following  poem  is  from  an  English  lady  •  to  her  brother  in 
California : 

In  the  ne'ei--to-be-forgotten  days  of  long,  long  ago, 

I  had  a  lovely  northern  home,  where  the  gorse  and  heather  blow  ; 

Where  the  brooks  go  singing — singing  past  wild  thyme  and  feathery  fern, 

Making  glad  the  quiet  way  by  which  they  never  shall  return : 

Where  the  larch  is  green  in  spring-time,  with  the  softest  of  all  green, 

And  the  hills  are  of  the  fairest  hue  in  the  summer's  glorious  sheen  ; 

Where  blue-bells,  waving  'mid  the  grass,  in  lonely  spots  delight, 

And  early  autumn  decks  the  banks  with  fox-gloves  tall  and  bright ; 

Where  the  linnet's  liquid  note  is  heard  in  the  clear  September  air. 

Oh,  weary  wand'rer  that  I  am ;  how  oft  my  heart  is  there, 

For  Nature's  face,  I  know,  still  looks  as  in  the  times  gone  by — 

Tho'  I  thought  a  shade  came  o'er  it  when  my  hopes  began  to  die  ; 

When  one  departed  trom  amidst  the  heather  and  the  fern, 

Who,  like  the  brooks,  made  glad  my  way ;  like  them  shall  not  return — 

"  Shall  not  return,  not  return,"  seemed  the  buiden  of  their  song, 

As,  changed  from  gladness  unto  sadness,  I  went  musingly  along. 

"  Cut  off  so  young — ah,  so  young,"  the  dark  pine  wailing  said. 

"  Once  so  bright,"  sang  the  daisy,  "must  I  paint  his  earthly  bed  ?" 

Then  I  left  my  olden  haunts  for  a  country  o'er  the  sea  ; 

But  visions  of  my  moorland  home  forever  went  with  me ; 

And  the  shadow  of  the  lost  one  journeyed  always  at  my  side, 

In  the  long,  long  summer  twilight  by  the  Neva's*  crystal  tide. 

Amid  the  alien  birches  of  the  flat  and  dreary  plain 

My  soul  grew  siek  with  pining  for  my  English  hills  again, 

And  I  came  back  to  the  wild  scenes  that  were  now  too  sadly  dear. 

But  alas  !  to  see  the  remnant  of  my  kindred  disappear  ; 

For  my  parents  took  their  way  to  a  far  Canadian  shore — 

My  brother  to  the  land  of  gold  had  sailed  away  before — 

And  I,  in  loneliness  of  heart,  and  bitterness  and  pain, 

Was  forced  to  leave  the  home  I  knew  could  ne'er  be  mine  again. 

Years  have  passed,  and  are  passing  :  mine  is  still  the  stranger's  lot ; 

But  the  rose  that  climbed  around  our  porch  from  my  mem'ry  fadeth  not; 

For  there  it  bloomed  and  nodded  in  the  fresh  and  gentle  rain 

Where  his  dear  kind  lips  at  parting  said,  "  We'll  hope  to  meet  again." 

The  remembrance  oft  is  sweet,  but  full  many  a  time  too  sad, 

And  then,  in  vain,  all  joyous  things  invite  me  to  be  glad ; 

But  in  my  quiet  chamber,  as  I  sit  with  weeping  eyes, 

I  commune  with  my  heart  and  say  :  "  0,  heart,  thou  art  not  wise, 

Thus  to  dwell  amid  the  treasures  and  the  pleasures  of  the  past ; 

*Neva.    St.  Petersburg!!,  Russia,  is  on  tlie  Neva. 


36  THE   HESPERIAN. 


Bethink  thee,  mourner,  rather  of  the  mercies  that  thou  hast. 

Wert  thou  not  told  in  childhood,  all  was  vanity  below  ? 

Oh,  wherefore  didst  thou  not  believe  that  thou  shouldst  find  it  so  ? 

Hadst  thou  kept  thyself  from  idols — better  loved  the  world  unseen — 

Thy  wounds  had  never  bled  so  long;  thy  pangs  had  been  less  keen. 

The  world  is  full  of  aching  hearts.     Let  thine  own  sorrow  be 

A  friendly  voice  to  stir  thee  up  to  pray  for  them  and  thee. 

Forget  thyself  in  works  of  love  to  suff  'ring  human  kind; 

'Twill  help  to  dry  thy  flowing  tears  and  heal  thy  wounded  mind." 

H.  J.  W. 


Eyes  are  bold  as  lions — roving,  running,  leaping,  here  and  there, 
far  and  near.  They  speak  all  languages.  They  wait  for  no  intro- 
duction ;  they  are  no  Englishmen  ;  ask  no  leave  of  age,  or  rank ; 
they  respect  neither  poverty  nor  riches,  neither  learning  nor 
power,  nor  virtue,  nor  sex,  but  intrude,  and  come  again,  and  go 
through  and  through  you,  in  a  moment  of  time.  What  inunda- 
tion of  life  and  thought  is  discharged  from  one  soul  into  another 
through  them !  The  glance  is  natural  magic.  The  mysterious 
communication  established  across  a  house  between  two  entire 
strangers  moves  all  the  springs  of  wonder.  The  communication 
by  the  glance  is  in  the  greatest  part  not  subject  to  the  control  of 
the  will.  It  is  the  bodily  symbol  of  identity  of  nature.  "We 
look  into  the  eyes  to  see  if  the  other'  form  is  another  self,  and  the 
eyes  Mall  not  lie,  but  make  a  faithful  confession  what  inhabitant 
is  there.  The  revelations  are  sometimes  terrific.  The  confession 
of  a  low  usurping  devil  is  there  made,  and  the  observer  shall 
seem  to  feel  the  stirring  of  owls,  and  bats,  and  horned  hoofs, 
where  he  looked  for  innocence  and  simplicity.  'Tis  remarkable, 
too,  that  the  spirit  that  appears  at  the  windows  of  a  house  does  at 
once  invest  himself  in  a  new  form  of  his  own,  to  the  mind  of  the 
beholder. 


Now  that  we  have  learned  the  secret  that  two  railroads  are  bet- 
ter than  a  river,  we  can  spare  the  Mississippi  until  it  has  better 
people  on  its  banks. 


WAR  — ITS    MORAL    ASPECT 


BY   W.    WELLINGTON    CARPENTER,    M.   D. 


It  does  appear  to  me  that  almost  every  man  and  woman,  with 
the  exception  of  my  humble  self,  has  had  his  or  her  say  on  the 
subject  of  the  day — the  great  American  rebellion.  And  why 
should  I  claim  a  say  at  all?  Ah,  yes,  why?  Kind  reader,  be 
assured  that  I  should  not  claim  my  natural  right  had  I  no  higher 
motive  in  prospect  than  ostensibly  prompted  the  author  of  a  sol- 
itary sentence  that  I  have  yet  seen  written  on  either  side  of  the 
subject.  Upon  the  skill  with  which  the  slaughter  has  been  con- 
ducted I  have  nothing  to  say ;  my  province  is  to  contend  that 
there  does  not,  and  cannot,  exist  a  moral  cause  for  this  or  any 
other  war,  at  all.  The  cause  of  war  is  an  undeveloped,  unpro- 
gressed  state  of  public  virtue  and  morality — a  highly  sensitive 
condition  of  the  animal  passions,  conjoined  with  a  torpid  state 
of  the  moral  faculties.  That  holy  command:  "  Do  ye  unto  others 
as  ye  would  that  others  should  do  unto  you"  although  upwards  of 
eighteen  hundred  years  of  age,  is  not  even  yet  appreciated  by 
the  sons  of  earth;  and  when  its  hallowed  teachings  are  rever- 
enced— our  Heavenly  Fatlier  speed  the  day — there  will  be  no  more 
war,  nor  strife  of  any  possible  kind ;  for  it  teaches  no  hatred,  no 
animosity,  no  retaliation — nothing  but  harmonious  love  and  uni- 
versal kindness.  Judge,  then,  of  my  surprise,  if  possible,  upon 
taking  up  one  of  our  best  papers,  a  morning  or  two  since,  and 
reading  an  article  on  our  "  war  capacity,"  in  which  the  writer 
contended  that  we  had  progressed  (?)  so  astonishingly  within  the 
last  forty  years  that  with  good  reason  might  any  foreign  or  inter- 
nal foe  fear  us.  Progressed !  That  is  what  I  call  "  backward 
progression ;"  and  I  would,  with  all  due  complaisance,  suggest 
to  the  author  that  retrogression  would  be  by  far  the  more  appro- 
priate term.  Does  that  blessed  maxim  which  we  have  above 
quoted  teach  us  to  fear  ?  Does  it  teach  us  that  wholesale  mur- 
der is  progression  ?  Does  it  teach  us  to  cultivate  a  hatred  for 
our  brother?     Ask  yourself  if  you  would  be  despised  by  your 


38  THE    HESPERIAN. 


fellow-man,  and  you  will  have  correctly  responded  to  the  inter- 
rogatory. All  this  results  from  wrong  culture ;  from  perverted 
education.  We  must  teach  different  doctrinal  principles.  Oh, 
what  an  incomprehensibly  glorious  state  of  society  there  would 
this  day  exist  had  every  military  school  in  existence  been  abol- 
ished two  hundred  years  ago,  and  universal  love  taught  all  man- 
kind from  that  time  to  the  present.  It  is  almost  impossible  to 
conceive  how  happy  we  would  this  day  have  been.  In  a  word,  in 
the  place  of  treating  our  fellow-men  with  hatred  and  suspicion, 
we  would  receive  them  with  love  and  confidence.  What  consti- 
tutes a  cause  for  war  ?  Is  that  cause  anything  more  or  less  than 
a  human  opinion  ?  Is  that  which  is  regarded  as  a  valid  cause 
for  a  declaration  of  war  anything  more  than  a  mortal  construc- 
tion of  a  mortal  act  or  deed  ?  Most  assuredly  not.  Then  will 
that  cause  not  be  governed  entirely  by  the  quality  and  character 
of  the  education  of  the  father  of  that  opinion  ?  Certainly.  Then 
could  we  not  so  perfect  oursevles  in  human  discipline  as  to  consider 
that  brother  who  errs  most  as  the  most  entitled  to  our  leniency 
and  sympathy  and  assistance  in  reformation  of  character?  Yes. 
Then  we  have  reached  that  state  of  progress  where  no  possible 
act  of  man  can  justify  a  like  retaliation ;  and  that,  too,  without 
reaching  anything  near  a  state  of  perfection.  But  all  our  pres- 
ent education  is  of  an  opposite  character  from  the  kind  which  we 
have  now  been  contemplating.  We  are  educated  downward. 
Our  military  schools  turn  out  upon  the  country  thousands  yearly, 
skilled  in  the  science  of  human  slaughter.  We  are  all  taught  to 
look  for  the  evil,  not  the  good,  in  man.  The  heads  of  our  gov- 
ernment are  taught  the  science  of  diplomacy.  If,  in  making  his 
morning  bow,  Mr.  John  Bull  fails — it  matters  not  whether  pur 
posely  or  accidentally — to  toe  precisely  the  diplomatic  scratch, 
he  must  come  out  with  a  due  apology,  for  Uncle  Sam  couldn't 
possibly  stand  it  without  some  humiliating  condescension  on  the 
part  of  Great  Britain  ;  and  the  "  big  men  "  of  England  decline  to 
patch  up  the  injured  dignity  of  the  "  big  men  "  of  America,  when 
the  poor,  innocent,  uninterested  masses  of  both  countries — who 
are  so  far  from  having  any  complicity  in  the  matter  that  but 
comparatively  few  of  their  number  even  comprehend  the  point  of 


WAR — ITS    MORAL   ASPECT.  39 

etiquette  which  has  caused  the  soulless,  whimsical,  imaginary 
breach,  which  th'eir  innocent  blood  is  about  to  wipe  out — are 
arrayed  in  mortal  combat ;  and  there,  under  the  command  of  the 
military  gentlemen  who  are  skilled  in  directing  human  murder, 
they  fight,  until  perhaps  both  parties  are  swept  out  of  mortal 
existence.  And  all  for  what?  Ah,  yes,  what?  Oh,  ye  heads 
of  governments ;  ye  who  issue  declarations  that  men  must  kill 
each  other,  I  would  rather  it  were  you  than  me  upon  which  it 
devolved  to  answer  for  your  sins  on  the  Judgment  Day. 

Now,  were  the  principles  of  universal  brotherly  love  taught 
throughout  the  earth,  the  moral  faculties  would  get  the  ascend- 
ancy of  the  animal  passions,  and  every  man  would  breathe  a 
perpetual  prayer  for  the  happiness  and  prosperity  of  all  the  rest. 
Well  do  I  know  that  you  will  assume  that  the  kind  of  govern- 
ment which  I  propose  is  impracticable.  In  refutation  of  your 
position  I  will  cite  you  to  the  commonwealth  of  William  Perm. 
Where  ever  did  a  second  man  meet  with  such  triumphant  success 
in  negotiation  with  the  savages  as  did  William  Penn  ?  He  went 
into  the  midst  of  the  savage  and  hostile  natives,  where  no  other 
man  dared  to  venture — his  very  non-combatant  principles  being 
his  guardian-shield  from  danger — and  there  he  made  a  treaty. 
And  such  a  treaty ;  no  mortal  man  has  seen  its  like  from  that  day 
to  the  present.  There  it  stands,  a  rebuke  to  almost  every  other 
treaty  or  business  transaction  that  has  ever  been  made  with  the 
North  American  Indians.  It  was  not  only  a  treaty  which  secured 
all  that  was  desired  on  earth,  but  it  secured  more.  So  profound 
was  the  love  of  those  simple-hearted  savages  for  Penn  that  they 
commemorated  his  name  so  long  as  a  vestige  of  their  tribe  re- 
mained. And  it  was  not  Penn  that  those  savages  worshipped, 
but  it  was  his  principles.  They  would  have  thought  just  as  much 
of  any  other  man  with  his  principles  as  they  did  of  him.  He  did 
as  he  would  have  had  others  do  by  him.  He  would  not  have  been 
shot ;  hence  he  took  no  firearms  with  him  to  shoot  others  with. 
He  would  not  have  been  stabbed ;  hence  he  took  no  knife  with 
him  to  stab  others  with.  He  would  not  have  had  his  lands  stolen 
from  him:  consequently  he  took  the  necessary  money  with  him 
to  pay  the  Indians  for  theirs. 

Could  Penn's  model  style  of  government  have  been  secured 


40  THE    HESPERIAN. 


to  posterity,  how  much  strife  and  miseiy  would  have  been 
avoided,  and  how  many  hundreds  of  thousands,  of  murdered  vic- 
tims would  have  lived  to  the  end  of  a  natural  life,  and  died  the 
death  of  peace  and  tranquility. 


LOVE'S    THEFT. 


BY   C.    H.   DORR. 


Young  Cupid  came  to  me  one  day, 

While  night  and  dawn  were  meeting, 
And  brought  a  heart  lie  stole  away 

As  my  own  love  lay  sleeping  ; 
I  laid  the  treasure  on  my  breast — 

It  still  with  joy  was  throbbing — 
And  thus  two  loving  hearts  were  blest, 

And  Cupid  blest  for  robbing. 

The  maiden  came  to  me  in  grief, 

Her  bright  eyes  wet  with  weeping ; 
She  told  her  loss,  and  sought  relief, 

If  it  was  in  my  keeping. 
I  kissed  her  lips,  and  whispered  all, 

And  asked  if  we  could  sever 
Two  hearts  thus  bound  beyond  recall  ? 

Sweet  lips,  they  whispered,  "Never!" 

And  thus  it  was  ;  two  hearts  are  one, 

In  thought,  and  wish,  and  feeling, 
And  each  new  day  that  marches  on 

To  each  new  joys  revealing  ; 
And  if  one  heart  should  go  before, 

To  leave  the  other  riven, 
Still  would  its  spirit  hover  o'er, 

Till  both  were  joined  in  heaven. 


Manners  have  been  defined  to  be  a  contrivance  of  wise  men  to 
keep  fools  at  a  distance. 


PITCHER-PLANTS. 


(Sarracenia  purpurea  and  Darlingtoiiia    Californica.) 
[For  illustration,  see  page  4.] 


BY   DK.   A.    KELLOGG. 


We  present  the  readers  of  the  Hesperian  with  a  sketch  of  the 
Pitcher-plant  {Sarracenia  purpurea),  now  attracting  so  much  pub- 
lic interest,  both  in  Europe  and  America,  on  account  of  its  rising 
celebrity  as  a  specific  cure,  as  well  as  preventive  remedy,  against 
that  most  fatal  and  loathsome  scourge,  the  small-pox. 

Although  little  or  no  additional  merit  may  attach  to  these 
remarks,  yet  we  feel  assured  our  labored  illustrations  will  not  fail 
to  give  a  degree  of  satisfaction  to  the  appreciative  inquirer  which 
no  amount  of  even  the  very  best  descriptions  can  so  well  do.  On 
the  left  side  of  the  same  page  (No.  2)  is  the  California  Pitcher- 
plant  (Darlingtonia  Californica),  found  a  few  miles  south  of 
Shasta  Peak,  along  the  boggy  borders  of  a  small  tributary  of  the 
upper  Sacramento.  Our  object  in  thus  confronting  these  two 
Pitcher-plants  is  to  invite  medical  attention  to  the  Pacific  species, 
as  one  available,  and  likely  to  prove  equally  if  not  more  effica- 
cious than  the  Atlantic. 

It  appears,  by  the  London  Lancet  of  February,  A.  D.  1862? 
from  a  paper  by  H.  C.  Miles,  Surgeon  of  Royal  Artillery,  Hali- 
fax, Nova  Scotia,  read  before  the  Epidemilogical  Society,  that  an 
Indian  specific  for  small-pox  has  been  discovered  (?). 

We  omit  details,  simply  saying  the  Halifax  pox-panic  was 
stayed  by  an  old  Indian  woman — wondrous  wise  in  wild-wood 
physic,  and  revered  accordingly.  Capt.  Hardy,  also,  of  the  said 
artillery,  an  able  and  intelligent  officer,  long  with  the  Indians, 
says:  "The  old  squaw's  remedy  has  long  been  known  among 
them  as  an  infallible  cure  for  small-pox,"  and  that  "  the  Indians 
believed  it  to  be  successful  in  every  case." 

A  tea  (infusion)  was  made  of  the  root,  and  a  large  wine-glass 
full  given.  The  effect  of  this  dose  is  to  bring  out  the  erupti  on 
At  intervals  of  four  or  six  hours  a  second  and  third  dose  is  given 
whereupon  the  pustules  subside,  apparently  losing  their  vitality. 


42  THE    HESPERIAN. 


The  patient  feels  better  at  the  end  of  each  dose,  and  in  the 
graphic  expression  of  the  Micmac,  "  knows  there  is  a  great 
change  within  him  at  once." 

In  a  subject  already  covered  with  the  eruption,  in  the  early 
stage,  a  dose  or  two  will  dissipate  the  pustules  and  subdue  the 
fever ;  the  urine,  from  being  scanty  and  high  colored,  becomes 
pale  and  abundant ;  under  the  influence  of  the  remedy  in  three  or 
four  days,  the  main  features  of  the  disease  subside.  The  sick  are 
still  kept  in  camp  until  the  ninth  day ;  there  was  no  pitting  in 
any  case  examined  who  were  treated  by  this  remedy. 

With  regard  to  the  medicine  acting  as  a  preventive  (as  is  be- 
lieved by  the  Indians),  they  keep  a  weak  infusion  constantly  pre- 
pared, and  take  a  dose  occasionally  during  the  day,  "  so  as  to 
keep  the  antidote  in  the  blood." 

The  Purple  Pitcher-plant  of  North  America,  No.  1,  we 
believe,  was  the  first  discovered,  somewhat  more  than  a  century 
ago.  The  genus  Sarracenia  was  probably  given  in  honor  of  Dr. 
Sarrasin,  a  French  botanist  of  Quebec.  This  species  has  a  very 
extensive  Atlantic  range — from  Newfoundland  to  Florida,  and 
west  to  the  Ohio.  Perhaps  few  plants  of  our  country  have 
excited  more  investigative  interest  in  scientific  circles,  or  given 
rise  to  more  curious  speculations  as  to  the  uses  subserved  by  its 
peculiar  structure.  Our  limits  will  only  allow  a  cursory  glance 
at  some  of  these  views  ;  and  first,  let  us  dwell  for  a  moment  upon 
the  details  of  its  structure,  as  the  best  foundation  for  future  infer- 
ences. 

One  of  these  hollow  leaves  is  cut  off,  as  is  seen  in  the  figure. 
This  pitcher-shaped  tube  is  always  about  half  filled  with  water — 
as  we  may  say  out  of  compliment,  for  in  fact  it  is  usually  a  foetid 
little  Sodomy  sea  of  dead  and  decaying  insects.  The  throat,  or 
orifice,  exudes  a  little  honey-like  substance ;  below,  for  an  inch  or 
so,  it  is  highly  polished  and  slippery ;  in  the  California  Pitcher- 
plant,  are  a  few  recurved  hooks,  as  seen  magnified  at  No.  3,  just 
within  at  the  entrance,  and  thence  smooth,  but  toward  the  base  it 
is  lined  with  long,  slender  hairs  pointing  downward,  like  the 
wires  of  a  mouse-trap.     (See  No.  4,  magnified.) 

When  an  insect  is  first  attracted  by  the  sweet  thirsty  secre- 
tion, and  would  fain  slake  that  thirst  with  a  more  delicious  water 
than  the  marsh  affords,  descends,  as  it  too  easily  can  do,  along 


PITCHER-PLANTS.  43 


these  declining  hairs,  it  appears  incapable  of  returning  by  its  feet 
alone,  and  can  only  escape  by  a  flight  so  perpendicular  as  to  sur- 
pass the  power  of  most  insects  ;  if  the  bristly  sides  of  the  tube  be 
touched,  the  horrent  hairs,  by  their  sharp  and  elastic  points, 
thrust  them  back ;  again  and  again,  at  each  renewed  effort,  are 
they  doomed  to  be  precipitated  into  the  watery  element  below ; 
finally,  exhausted  in  the  hopeless  struggle,  they  perish.  Insects 
of  large  size,  and  even  small  reptiles,  are  held  captives. 

Linnseus,  and  most  of  those  of  his  day,  inferred  that  the  open 
mouths  of  these  leaves  were  designed  to  catch  the  rains  and  dews, 
and  served  as  reservoirs  to  supply  the  plant  in  great  droughts, 
which  sometimes  happen  to  these  boggy  sources  and  ponds  where 
they  grow.  In  this  view,  the  flies  in  the  cistern  are  accidental, 
and  the  self-evident  design  of  a  portion  of  its  structure  is  left 
unexplained.  Besides,  many  examples  might  show  up  this  fal- 
lacy. It  is,  however  a  sufficient  answer  to  this  theory  to  look  at 
the  opposite  California  Pitcher-plant,  which  has  the  mouth  on  the 
under  side,  completely  covered  and  protected  by  the  arched  sum- 
mit, "  So  that  it  can  neither  receive  rain-water  nor  dew."  Per- 
haps Dr.  Torrey  may  be  mistaken  as  to  dew.  Most  plants  are 
great  condensers  of  vapor  and  dew;  even  in  the  driest  seasons, 
when  no  apparent  dew  is  seen,  three  thousand  gallons  of  water 
arise  from  an  acre  of  land  in  twelve  hours,  and  even  after  a 
shower  and  the  sun  pours  down  its  fervid  rays,  only  three  to  five 
hundred  gallons  increase  is  observed.  We  give  Adam's  Philoso- 
phy as  our  authority.  To  be  sure,  this  mostly  falls  again  in  the 
other  twelve  hours,  as  is  beautifully  illustrated  in  a  parlor  fern- 
ery upon  a  small  scale.  This  water  may  be  secreted,  as  some 
suppose,  by  the  foot-stalk  or  base  of  the  leaf.  In  our  species,  the 
arched  vault  above,  shading  the  orifice,  seems  designed  to  mod- 
erate the  evaporation  of  our  long  dry  season.  But  why  should 
these  plants  provide  water  while  sailing  on  a  pond  of  water,  as 
some  do? 

We  answer,  not  because  it  needs  the  water  so  much  as  the 
putrid  animal  as  well  as  vegetable  auras  and  atoms  for  organiza- 
tion and  adaptation  to  the  uses  of  mankind.  Diseases,  doubtless, 
like  the  devils,  go  out  into  the  herd  of  filthy  swine,  or  some  other 
forms  of  an  equally  filthy  origin.     As  an  axiom  based  upon  the 


44  THE   HESPERIAN. 


soundest  philosophical  principles  and  confirmed  by  much  observ- 
ation, we  hold  that  the  best  natural  correctives  and  purifiers  of 
stagnant  ponds  and  marshes,  and  also  as  regards  the  aerial  and 
aural  influences — in  short,  all  malarious  diseases  of  men  or  ani- 
mals, proximately  caused  by  such  conditions,  will  be  found  to 
own  a  common  origin.  If  so,  the  growths  indiginous  to  the  con- 
ditions which  have  given  rise  to  a  disease,  or  which  predispose  to 
its  attacks,  will  contribute  somewhat  to  its  relief;  similar  produc- 
tions throughout  the  world  will,  we  think,  invariably  furnish  the 
organic  remedial  agents  best  adapted  to  the  treatment.  It  is  not 
a  little  remarkable  that  one  species  of  Sarracenia  should  have 
been  named  variolaris  half  a  century  or  more  since.  This  is  a 
species  not  known  at  the  north  ;  the  varioloid  spots  on  it,  there- 
fore, could  not  have  led  the  simple  affirmative  mind  of  the  untu- 
tored Canadian  Indian  to  its  use.  The  reader  will  observe  the 
same  spots  on  the  California  Pitcher-plant,  just  as  though  a  benefi. 
cent  Creator  had  labeled  it  "Small-pox  Plant." 

It  would  be  interesting  to  notice  the  carniverous  Drosera,  or 
Sun-dew,  and  Dionea  Muscipula,  or  Yenus  Fly-trap,  which  also 
seize  and  appropriate,  in  a  similar  manner,  the  animal  elements 
of  insects  to  which  the  Pitcher-plants  are  allied. 

The  California  plant  has  a  flower-stem  two  to  four  feet  in 
height ;  flowers,  pale  purple,  about  two  inches  in  diameter, 
blooming  in  May  ;  the  leaves  are  three  feet  long,  twisted,  with  a 
somewhat  royal  crest  and  air — a  vegetable  curiosity,  one  would 
think,  sufiiciently  worthy  of  the  attention  of  amateur  observers 
and  cultivators. 

The  Atlantic  plant  here  figured  is  nearer  the  natural  size. 
The  flowers  are  purple,  with  the  petals  inflected  over  the  very 
curious,  umbrella-shaped  stigma.  According  to  the  authority  of 
Pennant,  a  species  of  small,  hump-backed  shrimp  lives  in  these 
pitchers. 

Our  Shasta  friends  would  greatly  oblige  us  by  sending  abund- 
ant specimens  in  every  stage — especially,  the  ripe  fruit. 


Don't  give  your  advice  upon  any  extraordinary  emergency,  nor 
your  opinion  upon  any  difficult  point,  especially  in  company  of 
eminent  persons,  without  first  taking  time  to  deliberate. 


Aittff'g  S*Ht. 


We  have  delayed  the  March  number  of  the  Magazine,  hoping  to  be  able  to 
lay  before  our  readers  a  full  summary  of  the  Spring  fashions,  but  up  to  the 
present  lime,  we  have  not  yet  received  the  iong  looked-for  intelligence,  and 
we  shall  have  to  postpone  until  next  month  this  interesting  item.  And  since 
we  can  not  discuss  the  question  of  what  we  shall  wear,  let  us  turn  to  that 
deeper  and  more  important  one  of  what  we  shall  do.  What  portion  of 
the  Master's  vineyard  shall  we  labor  in  ?  Everywhere  we  turn  our  eyes  we 
see  the  need  of  effort — generous,  noble,  self-sacrificing  effort.  There  are 
school-houses  and  churches  to  be  built,  and  homes  for  the  fallen  and  the 
inebriate.  There  are  orphans  to  be  housed  and  clothed  and  fed ;  youths  to 
be  reclaimed,  and  the  stranger  and  homeless  to  be  provided  for.  Broad  and 
extended  as  is  this  view,  it  does  by  no  means  comprehend  the  whole  of  that 
vast  field,  whose  whitened  harvests  everywhere  appeal  to  us  for  laborers,  and 
like  one  of  old,  we  feel  like  exclaiming  "  The  harvest  is  white  but  the  labor- 
ers are  Jew.'''' 

Do  not  turn  aside  and  say:  "Women  can  do  no  good,"  or,  "I  have 
enough  to  do  at  home."  Every  mother  should  find  some  sympathy  in  her 
heart  for  those  lonely  orphaned  ones,  and  every  wife,  and  mother,  and  sister, 
and  daughter,  should  help  to  pay  for  at  least  one  brick  in  the  "  Home  for  the 
Inebriate  ;"  for,  while  the  pestilence  of  intemperance  sweeps  through  our 
moral  atmosphere,  how  know  we  that  none  of  our  own  loved  and  cherished 
ones  shall  be  stricken  ?  Let  us  remember  that  the  influence  of  woman  is 
needed  in  every  reformatory  movement,  and  henceforth  consider  ourselves 
consecrated  to  the  ministry  of  doing  good.  Let  us  strengthen  the  weak,  lift 
up  the  fallen,  whisper  hope  to  the  disconsolate,  and  lure  the  feet  of  the  erring 
into  paths  of  peace.  So  shall  we  clothe  ourselves  with  garments  of  right- 
eousness, whose  white  and  ample  folds  may  be  acceptable  before  Him  who, 
as  he  reviews  the  record  of  our  short  and  sorrowful  earth  lives,  may  whisper : 
"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  have  done 
it  unto  me." 

The  Men  of  the  Times — Are  active,  quick  to  think,  speak  and  act.  The 
impulse  of  the  age  is  fast.  To  be  appreciated  now-a-days,  a  man  must  have 
a  little  of  the  steam-engine  in  him.  "  Go  ahead,  if  you  burst  your  boiler," 
is  the  motto  of  the  day.  The  slow,  plodding,  thoughtful  man  did  well  enough 
fifty  or  a  hundred  years  ago ;  but  he  won't  do  now,  in  this  age  of  steamboats 
and  railways,  and  telegraphs.  The  world  is  moving,  and  we  must  be  active 
if  we  would  keep  pace  with  its  ever-increasing  unfoldments  and  listen  to  its 
highest  revelations,  which,  speaking  through  Nature,  Science  and  Art,  call 
unto  us  to  prepare  to  occupy  a  higher  place  in  the  world's  history  than  has 
ever  yet  been  accorded  unto  man. 


46  THE    HESPERIAN. 


At  this  time,  ■when  so  many  are  called  to  part  with  their  loved  and  loving  ones, 
vve  feel  that  the  following  exquisite  lines,  which  we  copy  from  the  Herald 
and  Mirror,  may  help  the  bereaved  to  contemplate  the  birth  of  the  spirit  into 
the  realms  of  peace  and  joy,  rather  than  the  death  of  the  body  and  the  dark- 
some grave : 

THE    SPIRIT    BIRTH. 


BY   FANNY   GREEN. 


Touch  him  gently,  loving  brother ; 

Kiss  him  softly,  tender  sister — 

Worn  with  suffering,  sad  and  dreary ; 

Stung  with  anguish  cold  and  weary ; 
Heaven  to  heaven,  and  earth  to  earth- 
Aid  the  struggling  spirit's  birth. 

See  his  eye-lids  gently  closing, 
And  his  tortured  form  reposing ; 
Now  he  lists,  the  spirit  whispers, 
Softly,  sweetly,  singing  vespers, 

While  the  numbers  gently  roll 

Over  his  awaking  soul. 

Tenderly  we  gather  round  him  ; 
Gently  loose  the  tie  that  bound  him;] 
Softly,  now  the  word  is  spoken, 
And  the  "  golden  bowl "  is  broken ; 

Shed  upon  his  weeping  eyes 

Healing  light  of  Paradise. 

With  a  rapture  high  and  holy, 
Angels  lift  the  poor  and  lowly. 
Now  the  lost  are  bending  o'er  him, 
And  the  path  shines  bright  before  him — 

Per  the  stone  is  rolled  away 

Prom  the  sepulchre  of  clay. 

Fondly  sister  arms  are  twining, 
And  their  faces  o'er  him  shining. 
Lift  him  gently,  loving  brother, 
Bear  him  softly,  tender  mother, 
O'er  the  darkly  rolling  wave, 
From  the  shadow  of  the  grave. 

Now  his  weary  form  reposes 
On  the  amaranthine  roses  ! 
Living  waters  sing  evangels 


editor's  table.  47 


To  the  singing  of  the  angels  ; 

Heaven  to  heaven,  and  earth  to  earth, 
Joyful  is  the  Spirit's  Birth  ! 

Moderation. — Many  a  man  has,  before  now,  thought  of  the  propriety  of 
moderating  his  wants  and  desires  in  the  world,  but  not  all  even  of  these  many 
have  ever  resolved  to  set  about  doing  the  thing  their  hearts  secretly  approve. 
The  present  crisis,  however,  compels  them  to  make  a  virtue  of  necessity. 
They  are  obliged  to  bring  down  their  ideas  to  u  modest  standard  now,  if  never 
before.  And  it  is  a  little  surprising,  too,  to  find  what  numbers  of  persons  are 
suddenly  become  practical  philosophers  about  these  matters;  to  see  how 
adroitly  they  scheme,  and  how  skillfully  they  manage,  to  reduce  to  practice 
the  very  theories  which  but  recently  they  had  broached.  In  this  sense,  the 
hard  times  is  certainly  doing  all  sides  good,  for  the  moment  a  man  seriously 
makes  up  his  mind  that  he  wants  nothing  beyond  a  certain  reasonable  limit 
of  material  goods  to  make  him  happy  and  aid  in  the  proper  development  of 
his  nature,  toe  scales  have  fallen  from  his  eyes,  and  he  has  become  a  new  and 
better  man.     For  the  first  time,  then,  he  really  knows  his  possibilities. 

An  actress  was  being  complimented  in  the  green-room  upon  the  blackness  of 
her  hair. 

"  Why,  it's  dyed,"  she  replied,  with  the  amiable  frankness  of  the  true 
artist. 

"Dyed !"  repeated  the  other  speaker,  "  why,  favorite  as  you  are,  you  are 
not  yet  five-and-twenty." 

"No,"  said  the  lady;  but  you  know  "whom  the  gods  love,  die  young." 

Forward,  not  Backward. — It  is  not  strange  that  men  recoil  from  a 
pluuge  into  the  world's  cold  waters,  and  long  to  creep  back  into  the  bath  from 
which  they  have  suddenly  risen.  But  that  man  or  woman,  having  fully 
passed  into  the  estate  of  man  and  woman,  should  desire  to  become  children 
again,  is  impossible.  It  is  only  the  half-developed,  the  badly-developed,  the 
imperfectly-nurtured,  the  mean-spirited,  and  the  demoralized,  who  look  back 
to  the  innocence,  the  helplessness,  and  the  simple  animal  joy  and  content  of 
childhood  with  genuiue  regret  for  their  loss.  I  want  no  better  evidence  that 
a  person's  life  is  regarded  by  himself  as  a  failure  than  that  furnished  by  his 
honest  willingness  to  be  restored  to  his  childhood.  When  a  man  is  ready  to 
relinquish  the  power  of  his  mature  reason,  his  strength  and  skill  for  self-sup- 
port, the  independence  of  his  will  and  life,  his  bosom  companion  and  child- 
ren, his  interest  in  the  stirring  affairs  of  his  time,  his  part  in  deciding  the 
great  questions  which  agitate  his  age  and  nation,  his  intelligent  apprehen- 
sion of  the  relations  which  exist  between  himself  and  his  Maker,  and  his 
rational  hope  of  immortality — if  he  have  one — for  the  negative  animal  con- 
tent, and  frivolous  enjoyments  of  a  child,  he  does  not  deserve  the  name  of 
a  man ;  he  is  a  weak,  unhealthy,  broken-down  creature,  or  a  base  poltroon. 


48  THE    HESPERIAN. 


Life  without  Love. — We  sometimes  meet  with  men  who  seem  to  think 
that  any  indulgence  in  an  affectionate  feeling  is  a  weakness.  They  will 
return  from  a  journey  and  greet  their  families  with  a  distant  dignity,  and 
move  among  their  children  with  the  cold  and  lofty  splendor  of  an  iceberg 
surrounded  by  its  broken  fragments.  There  is  hardly  a  more  unnatural  sight 
on  earth  than  one  of  those  families  without  a  heart.  A  father  had  better 
extinguish  a  boy's  eyes  than  take  away  his  heart.  Who,  that  has  experienced 
the  joys  of  friendship,  and  values  sympathy  and  affections,  would  not  rather 
lose  all  that  is  beautiful  in  nature's  scenery  than  be  robbed  of  the  hidden 
treasures  of  his  heart?  Cherish,  then,  your  heart's  best  affections.  Indulge 
in  the  warm  and  gushing  emotions  of  filial,  parental,  and  fraternal  love. 

The  Banner  of  the  Cross  has  lately  advanced  the  following  beautiful  argu- 
ment for  charity  between  Christians  of  different  denominations: — "We are 
struck  with  the  character  of  the  last  words  of  Christians  when  they  come  to 
die,  as  having  in  general  a  complete  agreement  in  doctrine.  They  may  have 
differed  in  life,  but  in  death  they  agree.  This  serves  to  show  us  that  our 
party  separations  in  action,  and  our  incongruities  in  sympathy,  are  for  the 
most  part,  unjustifiable.  We  should  endeavor  to  see  this  now,  and  to  act 
upon  it  as  a  truth,  which  we  shall  one  day  own  and  rejoice  in.  We  are  as 
fallible  while  living  as  while  dying;  but  if  we  felt  this  to  be  so,  there  would 
be  no  lack  of  charitable  judgment — no  conscience  separating  between  us  and 
the  body  of  the  faithful." 

What  solid  bodies  are  among  the  best  conductors  of  sound?  Iron  and 
glass :  these  transmit  sound  at  a  rate  of  more  than  three  miles  a  second ;  and 
after  them  come  copper,  several  kinds  of  wood,  silver,  tin,  and  so  on. 

Why  does  a  metal  spoon,  left  in  a  saucepan,  retard  the  boiling  process  ?  Be- 
ing an  excellent  conductor,  the  metal  spoon  carries  off  the  heat  from  the  wa- 
ter, and  consequently  prevents  it  boiling  so  soon  as  it  otherwise  would. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  FULL-SIZED  PAPER  PATTERN. 


WALKING-CAPE. 

We  give,  this  month,  the  pattern  of  the  Walking-cape  for  street  dress.  It 
is  composed  of  two  pieces — front  and  back — joined  by  a  seam  on  the  shoul- 
ders. This  is  a  very  stylish  pattern,  and  bids  fair  to  come  into  general  use. 
In  our  next  issue  we  will  give  a  full  summary  of  fashions  for  spring  and 
summer. 


PATTERNS. 


49 


LATTICE  SLEEVE. 

This  sleeve  is  elegant  in  any  of  the  new  dark 
silks.  It  is  demi-fiowing,  and  arranged  with  a 
lattice  open-work  of  fine  silk  cord  over  puffed 
lace,  the  sections  being  each  surrounded  and  de- 
fined by  a  quilling  of  narrow  velvet.  A  quilling 
of  velvet  also  surrounds  the  bottom  of  the  sleeve 
and  a  quilling  of  narrow  white  satin  ribbon, 
edged  with  blond,  the  under  side,  which  is  lined 
with  white  silk. 


BOY'S   COAT. 

The  body  is  a  plain  sack,  rounded  in  front, 
and  fitted  at  the  waist  by  a  side-jacket,  which  is 
fitted  round  the  back,  plaited  and  attached  to  a 
belt,  thus  confining  the  body  of  the.  coat.  It  is 
suitable  for  a  boy  from  three  to  six  years.  Silk, 
poplin  or  merino  are  good  material  for  this  style, 
according  to  the  means  and  taste  of  the  indi- 
vidual. 


UNION  APRON. 

Union  apron  of  red  and  white  silk,  with  bodice 
of  blue  velvet,  upon  which  the  stars  are  placed. 
The  apron  is  in  form  of  a  United  States  shield, 
and  is  surrounded  with  silver  fringe. 


BODICE   APRON. 

This  is  a  pretty  apron  for  a  girl,  and  should 
be  made  in  silk.  It  has  pockets,  a  bodice,  and 
shoulder  straps,  which  are  united  by  a  broad  fiat 
bow,  without  ends.  The  straps  and  bodice  may 
be  ornamented  with  thick  black  guipure  edging, 
or  with  narrow  v  lvet,  or  both,  to  suit  the  taste 
and  means.  Narrow  black  velvet  is  as  pretty  as 
any  thing  and  the  most  economical. 


SOFT  ARNICA.     (Arnica  mollis.) 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


Vol.VIIL]  APEIL,     1862.  [No.  2. 


THE  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 

WHAT  THEY   HAVE   BEEN  AND  WHAT    THEY  ARE.— THEIR  RELATIONS   WITH 
THE    UNITED    STATES   IN   THE  EXISTING    NATIONAL     CRISIS.— THE 
MODIFICATIONS  OF  THEIR  CHARACTER  BY  THE  INFUSION 
OF  WHITE  BLOOD  AND  THE  CONTACT  OF  CIVIL- 
IZATION.—THEIR  PROBABLE  DESTINY. 


BY     JOHN     E.     RIDGE . 


AETICLE  NO.  2. 

In  the  following  article  we  shall  treat  of  the  religions  belief  and 
peculiar  mythological  notions  of  the  Indians,  belonging  to  the 
groups  designated  in  the  previous  number.  We  have  already 
stated,  that  all  except  the  more  northern  groups  were  originally 
worshippers  of  the  sun  and  moon,  after  the  manner  of  the  ancient 
Mexiques  and  Peruvians.  It  is  not  positively  known  when  this 
worship,  with  its  attendant  ceremonies  ceased,  but  traces  of  it 
were  found  among  the  tribes  of  the  Atlantic  coast  and  Mississip- 
pi Yalley  at  the  discovery  of  the  continent,  and  are  still  found 
among  some  of  them.  .For  this  worship  they  were  doubtless 
indebted  to  the  Toltic  element  which  ran  northward  from  the 
Mexican  latitudes,  after  the  ascendancy  of  the  Aztecs,  and  be- 
came infused  into  the  different  tribes  which  it  found  or  met  in  its 
progress. 

The  sun  worship  among  the  Mexican  and  Peruvian  tribes  was 
attended  with  human  sacrifices  and  rights  as  horrid  as  those  which 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by  Mrs.   F.   H.  Day,   in  the   Clerks' 
Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Northern  District  of  California. 


52  THE   HESPEKIAST. 


were  observed  in  the  temples  of  Moloch ;  but  the  ceremonies 
among  the  Indians  we  treat  of  seem  to  have  been  materially  mod- 
ified, and  there  is  no  evidence  that  the  United  States  tribes  ever 
offered  such  sacrifices.  They  had  no  temples  save  the  rocks  and 
the  woods,  in  which  they  sang  their  hymns  to  the  Sun  and  built 
their  sacred  fires.  This  practice  many  of  them  keep  up,  to  the 
present  day.  The  Sun,  at  least  by  the  Medas  and  Prophets,  was 
regarded  not  as  the  Deity  or  Great  Spirit,  himself,  but  as  a  sym- 
bol of  the  Deity  or  Great  Spirit.  To  him  was  opposed  a  great 
Evil  Spirit  symbolized  by  Darkness.  The  Great  Good  Spirit,  al- 
though supreme  in  the  high  sense  of  a  great  creative  power,  giv- 
ing life  to  all  things  and  sustaining  the  world,  was  yet  throned  in 
a  mere  passive  goodness  which  looked  down  serenely,  as  the  Sun 
shines  upon  the  earth,  upon  the  continual  active  power  of  the 
Great  Evil  Spirit  and  his  hosts  of  demons  incessantly  at  war  with 
the  legions  of  good  spirits.  Victory  by  no  means  predominated 
with  the  Manitoes  of  good  any  more  than  with  the  Manitoes  of 
evil,  and  propitiatory  sacrifices  were  as  often  offered  to  the  evil 
genii  as  to  the  good.  Thus  the  dualistic  principle  of  good  and 
evil  ran  through  the  whole  system  of  things,  and  the  successes 
and  failures  of  life  were  for  the  most  part  attributed  to  the  direct 
agency  of  spirits.  Eevery  Indian  had  at  least  one  guardian  Man- 
ito  who  was  always  a  good  spirit,  and  it  was  the  business  of  this 
Manito  to  protect  him  in  his  goings  and  comings  ;  but  it  was  a 
mere  question  of  relative  strength,  courage,  or  skill,  whether  the 
good  Manito  was  successful  or  not  in  his  various  and  spirited  con- 
tests, in  behalf  of  his  dusky  ward,  with  opposing  forces. 

The  Great  Evil  Spirit  was  supposed  to  inhabit  the  solid  earth, 
and  the  hiding  places  of  his  Myrmidons  were  innumerable. 
The  bad  spirits  were  not  endowed  with  immortality,  whilst  the 
good  spirits,  for  the  most  part,  were — and  this  may  indicate  a  no- 
tion of  the  Indian  mind,  that  evil  was  not  indestructible,  while 
good  was  to  exist  forever. 

Sacrifices  to  the  Great  Good  Spirit  were  a  duty ;  but  sacrifices 
to  the  Great  Evil  Spirit  and  his  demons  were  a  matter  of  policy 
b}T  no  means  to  be  disregarded,  since  the  good  spirits  were  in  any 
event  good,  while  the  bad  spirits,  if  not  carefully  propitiated, 
were  continually  bent  upon  mischief.  Yet  the  religious  observ- 
ances paid  to  the  good  Principle  were  seldom  neglected,  being 


THE    NORTH   AMERICAN    INDIANS.  53 

the  offerings  of  thankfulness  and  love.  Neglect  of  certain  ob- 
servances was  considered  as  a  great  crime,  and  was  in  some 
instances,  punishable  with  death.  No  matter  how  severe  the 
execution  of  any  task  imposed  by  religious  custom  might  be,  it 
was  to  be  fulfilled.  It  was  considered  particularly  criminal  to 
shirk  a  fast.  By  way  of  illustration,  we  may  mention  an  instance 
which  ocuurs  to  our  recollection  at  the  present  moment,  and  is 
well  authenticated  in  northern  Indian  history.  It  was  the  custom 
of  one  of  the  Canadian  tribes,  in  very  early  times,  for  the  father 
to  fast  three  days,  in  succession,  upon  the  death  of  any  of  his 
children.  The  family  of  a  chief  of  one  of  the  clans,  was  attack- 
ed with  scarlet  fever.  One  of  the  children  died.  The  chief 
fasted  three  days.  At  the  end  of  that  time  a  second  one  died, 
and  the  chief  fasted  three  days  more.  Before  the  expiration  of 
that  period  a  third  child  died.  By  this  time,  the  chief  was  nearly 
frantic  with  hunger,  and  on  the  seventh  day,  being  too  closely 
.watched  by  the  villagers,  he  took  to  the  wilderness.  The  first 
living  object  he  saw  was  a  bull-frog,  which  he  immediately 
seized  and  devoured  alive.  He  had  been  followed  by  some  of 
his  clan  and  discovered  in  the  act.  Upon  his  return  to  the  vil- 
lage he  was  surrounded  by  men,  women  and  children  with  all 
sorts  of  denunciation  and  clamor,  and,  in  his  state  of  emaciation 
unable  to  offer  any  resistance  or  even  to  attempt  to  escape,  he 
was  tied  to  a  stake,  fagots  prepared,  and  everything  prepared  to 
offer  him  up  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  vengeance  of  Heaven.  The 
fortunate  interposition  of  a  Catholic  Missionary,  whose  person, 
although  not  his  religious  faith,  was  respected  by  those  rude  bar- 
barians, alone  saved  him.  The  bull-frog  sustained  the  Chief's 
life  through  the  remainder  of  the  required  period,  and  he  caine* 
forth  from  the  ordeal,  in  better  physical  condition  than  could  have 
been  expected. 

The  Egyptian  and  Pythagorian  doctrine  of  Metempsychosis,  or 
of  the  transmigration  of  souls,  was  an  important  portion  of  their 
religious  creed.  This  is  well  illustrated  in  Longfellow's  Hiawa- 
tha, which  is  for  the  most  part  a  rythmical  narration  of  Indian 
traditions,  and  mythological  fables.  The  story  of  Pau-puk-kee- 
wis  is  a  fable  of  the  Ojibways,  illustrating  this  idea  of  the  trans- 
migration of  souls.  Pau-puk-keewis  was  an  evil  man,  opposed 
to  Hiawatha,  the  Jesus  Christ  or  Saviour  of  the  Indians.     He  had 


54  THE   HESPERIAN. 


been  doing  sundry  acts  of  mischief,  and  the  wrath  of  Hiawatha 
was  aroused. 

"  I  will  slay  this  Pau-puk-keewis, 

Slay  this  mischief  maker,"  said  he. 

Then  in  swift  pursuit  departed 

Hiawatha  and  the  Hunters 

On  the  trail  of  Pau-puk-keewis  ; 

Through  the  forest,  where  he  passed  it, 

To  the  head-lands,  where  he  rested  ; 

But  they  found  not  Pau-puk-keewis, 

Only  in  the  trampled  grasses, 

In  the  whortleberry  bushes, 

Found  the  couch  where  he  had  rested, 

Found  the  impress  of  his  body. 

From  the  low-lands  far  beneath  them, 

From  the  Muskoday,  the  meadow, 

Pau-puk-keewis,  turning  backward, 

Made  a  gesture  of  defiauce, 

Made  a  gesture  of  derision  : 

And  aloud  cried  Hiawatha 

From  the  summit  of  the  mountain  : 

"  Not  so  long  and  wide  the  world  is, 

Not  so  rude  and  rough  the  way  is, 

But  my  wrath  shall  overtake  you, 

And  my  vengeance  shall  attain  you." 

Over  rock  and  river,  through  bush,  brake  and  forest,  rushed 
Pau-puk-keewis,  until  he  came  to  a  stream  dammed  up  by  the 
beavers. 

"  On  the  dam  stood  Pau-puk-keewis, 

On  the  dam  of  trunks  and  branches, 

Through  whose  chinks  the  water  spouted, 

O'er  whose  summit  flowed  the  streamlet. 

From  the  bottom  rose  a  beaver, 

Looked  with  two  great  eyes  of  wonder,  etc. 
On  the  dam  stood  Pau-puk-keewis  ; 

O'er  his  ankles  flowed  the  streamlet, 

Flowed  the  bright  and  silvery  water,  , 

And  he  spake  unto  the  beaver, 

With  a  smile  he  spake  in  this  wise  : 

"  Oh  my  friend  Ahmeek,  the  beaver, 

Cool  and  pleasant  is  the  water  ; 

Let  me  dive  into  the  water, 

Let  me  rest  there  in  your  lodges  : 

Change  me  too  into  a  beaver." 


THE    NORTH   AMERICAN    INDIANS.  55 

Cautiously  replied  the  beaver, 
With  reserve  he  thus  made  answer  : 
"  Let  me  first  consult  the  others, 
Let  me  ask  the  other  beavers." 
Down  he  sank  into  the  water, 
Heavily  sank  he,  as  a  stone  sinks, 
Down  among  the  leaves  and  branches 
Brown  and  matted  at  the  bottom. 

On  the  dam  stood  Pau-puk-keewis  : 

The  beavers  agreed  to  the  proposition,  and  Ahmeek  rose  and 
said  to  Pau-puk-keewis : 

"  Let  yourself  slide  down  among  us, 
Down  into  the  tranquil  water." 

Down  into  the  pond  among  them, 
Silently  sank  Pau-puk-keewis ; 
Black  became  his  shirt  of  deerskin, 
Black  his  moccasins  and  his  leggings  ; 
In  a  broad  black  tail  behind  him 
Spread  his  fox-tails  and  his  fringes  ; 
He  was  changed  into  a  beaver. 

"  Make  me  large,"  said  Pau-puk-keewis, 
"  Make  me  large  and  make  me  larger, 
Larger  than  the  other  beavers." 
"  Yes,"  the  beaver  chief  responded, 
"  When  our  lodge  below  you  enter, 
In  our  wigwam  we  will  make  you 
Ten  times  larger  than  the  others." 

It  was  so  done  ;  but  not  long  had  Pau-puk-keewis  enjoyed  his 
beaverhood,  before  Hiawatha  arrived  at  the  dam. 

When  there  came  a  voice  of  warning 
From  the  watchman  at  his  station 
In  the  water-flags  and  lilies, 
Saying,  "  Here  is  Hiawatha  ! 
Hiawatha  with  his  hunters  !  " 

Then  they  heard  a  cry  above  them, 
Heard  a  shouting  and  a  tramping, 
Heard  a  crashing  and  a  rushing  ; 
And  the  water  round  and  o'er  them 
Sunk  and  sucked  away  in  eddies, 
And  they  knew  the  dam  was  broken. 

On  the  lodge's  roof  the  hunters 
Leaped  and  broke  it  all  asuuder  ; 


56  THE     HESPERIAN. 


Streamed  the  sunshine  through  the  crevice, 
Sprang  the  heavers  through  the  doorway, 
Hid  themselves  in  deeper  water, 
In  the  channel  of  the  streamlet ; 
But  the  mighty  Pau-puk-keewis 
Could  not  pass  beneath  the  doorway  : 
He  was  puffed  with  pride  and  feeling, 
He  was  swollen  like  a  bladder. 

Through  the  roof  looked  Hiawatha, 
Cried  aloud  :  "  Oh  Pau-puk-keewis, 
Vain  are  all  your  craft  and  cunning, 
Vain  your  manifold  disguises, 
Well  I  know  you,  Pau-puk-keewis  !  " 

With  their  clubs  they  beat  and  bruised  him, 
Beat  to  death  poor  Pau-puk-keewis  : 
Pounded  him  as  maize  is  pounded, 
Till  his  skull  was  crushed  to  pieces. 

Six  tall  hunters,  lithe  and  limber, 
Bore  him  home  on  poles  and  branches, 
Bore  the  body  of  the  beaver. 
But  the  ghost,  the  Jeebi,  in  him 
Thought  and  felt  as  Pau-puk-keewis, 
Still  lived  on  as  Pau-puk-keewis. 

And  it  fluttered,  strove,  and  struggled. 
Waving  hither,  waving  thither, 
As  the  curtains  of  a  wigwam 
Struggle  with  their  thongs  of  deerskin, 
When  the  wintry  wind  is  blowing  ; 
Till  it  drew  itself  together, 
Till  it  rose  up  from  the  body, 
Till  it  took  the  form  and  features 
Of  the  cunning  Pau-puk-keewis,  j 
Vanishing  into  the  forest. 

But  the  wary  Hiawatha 
Saw  the  figure  ere  it  vanished, 
Saw  the  form  of  Pau-puk-keewis 
Glide  into  the  soft  blue  shadow 
Of  the  pine-tree  in  the  forest ; 
Like  a  wind  it  rushed  and  panted, 
Bending  all  the  boughs  before  it, 
And  behind  it,  as  the  rain  comes, 
Came  the  steps  of  Hiawatha. 

To  a  lake  with  many  islands 
Came  the  breathless  Pau-puk-keewis, 
Where  among  the  water-lilies 


THE    NORTH   AMERICAN    INDIANS.  57 

Pishnekuh,  the  brant,  were  sailing. 
"Pishnekuh!  "  cried  Pau-puk-keewis, 
"Pishnekuh,  my  brothers  !  "  said  he, 
"  Change  me  to  a  brant  with  plumage, 
With  a  shining  neck  and  feathers, 
Make  me  large  and  make  me  larger, 
Ten  times  larger  than  the  others." 

Straightway  to  a  brandt  they  changed  him, 
With  two  huge  and  dusky  pinions, 
With  a  bosom  smooth  and  rounded, 
With  a  bill  like  two  great  paddles, 
Made  him  larger  than  the  others, 
Ten  times  larger  than  the  largest ; 
Just  as,  shouting  from  the  forest, 
On  the  shore  stood  Hiawatha. 

As  the  fowl  took  their  flight,  they  warned  Pau-puk-keewis  not 
to  look  downward.  Finally  they  sailed  over  Hiawatha's  village. 
Pan-puk-keewis  heard  the  shouting  below  and  looked  down.  A 
gust  of  wind  struck  his  mighty  fan  of  feathers  and  capsized  him. 

All  in  vain  did  Pau-puk-keewis, 

Struggle  to  regain  his  balance  ! 

Whirling  rouud,  and  round,  and  downward, 

He  beheld  in  turn  the  village 

And  in  turn  the  flock  above  him  ; 

Saw  the  village  coming  nearer, 

And  the  flock  receding  farther, 

Heard  the  voices  growing  louder, 

Heard  the  shouting  and  the  laughter  ; 

Saw  no  more  the  flock  above  him, 

Only  saw  the  earth  beneath  him  ; 

Dead  out  of  the  empty  heaven, 

Dead  among  the  shouting  people, 

With  a  heavy  sound  aud  sullen, 

Fell  the  brant  with  broken  pinions. 

But  his  soul,  his  ghost,  his  shadow 
Still  survived  as  Pau-puk-keewis, 
And  again  went  rushing  onward. 

Hiawatha  pursuing  Pau-puk-keewis  fell  into  a  whirlwind,  and 
thence  glided  in  the  form  of  a  serpent  into  a  hollow  oak  tree. 
Hiawatha  rent  the  oak  tree  into  splinters. 

But  in  vain  ;  for  Pau-puk-keewis, 

Once  again  in  human  figure, 

Full  in  sight  ran  on  before  him, 


58  THE     HESPEEIAN. 


Sped  away  in  gust  and  whirlwind. 
On  the  shores  of  Gitch-ee-Gumee, 
Westward  by  the  Big  Sea  Water, 
Came  unto  the  rocky  headlands, 
To  the  Pictured  Eocks  of  sandstone, 
Looking  over  lake  and  landscape. 

The  old  Manito  of  the  mountains  gave  him  shelter.     Then 

Hiawatha 

Called  Waywassimo,  the  lightning, 
And  the  thunder,  Annemeeke  ; 
And  they  came  with  night  and  darkness, 
Sweeping  down  the  Big  Sea  Water 
From  the  distant  Thunder  Mountains ; 
And  the  trembling  Pau-puk-keewis 
Heard  the  footsteps  of  the  thunder, 
Saw  the  red  eyes  of  the  lightning, 
Was  afraid  and  crouched  and  trembled. 
Then  Waywassimo,  the  lightning, 
Smote  the  doorways  of  the  caverns, 
With  his  war  club  smote  the  doorways, 
Smote  the  jutting  crags  of  sandstone  ; 
And  the  thunder,  Annemeke, 
Shouted  down  into  the  caverns, 
Saying,  "Where  is  Pau-puk-keewis  1  " 
And  the  crags  fell,  and  beneath  them 
Dead  among  the  rocky  ruins 
Lay  the  cunning  Pau-puk-keewis, 
Lay  the  handsome  Yenadizze, 
Slain  in  his  own  human  figure. 

Then  the  noble  Hiawatha 
Took  his  soul,  his  ghost,  his  shadow, 
Spake  and  said  :  "  Oh  Pau-puk-keewis  ! 
Never  more  in  human  figure 
Shall  you  search  for  new  adventures  ; 
Never  more  with  jest  and  laughter 
Dance  the  dust  and  leaves  in  whirlwinds ; 
But  above  there  in  the  heavens 
You  shall  soar  and  sail  in  circles  ; 
I  will  change  you  to  an  eagle, 
To  Kenew,  the  great  war  eagle, 
Chief  of  all  the  fowls  with  feathers, 
Chief  of  Hiawatha's  chickens. 

The  Indians  believed  that  an  evil  spirit  could  enter  into  a  per- 
son, old  or  young,  male  or  female,  and  that  the  person  thus  pos- 


THE    NORTH   AMERICAN"   INDIANS.  59 

sessed  could  assume  at  pleasure  the  form  of  any  beast,  bird  or 
reptile,  and  resume  liis  or  her  original  shape  with  equal  facility. 
Persons  thus  possessed  were  witches,  and  it  was  supposed  that 
they  held  secret  meetings  in  various  disguises  of  bear,  wolf,  owl, 
bat,  and  other  forms  both  brutal  and  human,  at  night,  in  the  for- 
ests, with  initiation  ceremonies  and  novitiate  fees,  of  the  most 
fearful  character.  The  usual  fee  of  admission  for  the  neophyte, 
was  the  life  of  his  or  her  nearest  friend,  taken  by  poison.  Many 
reputed  witches  were  killed,  and  many  confessed  to  being  witches 
notwithstanding  the  certain  penalty.  The  like  confessions  it  will 
be  remembered  were  made  during  the  famous  witch-craft  excite- 
ments in  New  England,  and  it  may  be  that  magnetic  or  spiritual 
phenomena  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  delusion. 

Periodical  festivals,  and  thanksgivings  and  sacred  dances  form-' 
ed  an  important  portion  of  the  systematic  worship  of  the  Indians. 
At  the  Planting  Festival  they  invoked  the  Great  Spirit  to  bless 
the  seed  which  was  put  into  the  ground.  The  Green  Corn  festi- 
val and  dance  was  a  mode  of  thanking  the  Great  Spirit  for  the 
ripening  of  the  corn.  The  ripening  of  the  strawberries  and  whor- 
tleberries was  .frequently  made  the  occasion  of  imposing  ceremon- 
ies. Among  some  of  the  tribes  there  was  a  sacred  day  on  which 
an  annual  sacrifice  was  made  of  a  white  dog.  A  white  dog  was 
selected  as  an  emblem  of  purity.  The  burning  of  the  dog  was  to 
send  up  its  soul  as  a  messenger  to  the  Great  Spirit,  to  announce 
the  fidelity  of  the  people  to  Gitche  Manito,  "  The  Great  Master 
of  Life,"  and  to  thank  him  for  continued  blessings.  They  be- 
lieved that  the  Great  Spirit  made  a  covenant  with  their  fore- 
fathers, that,  when  they  should  send  up  to  him  the  spirit  of  a  dog, 
without  blemish  or  spot,  he  would  receive  it  as  the  pledge  of 
their  love  and  devotion,  and  so  continue  to  make  the  earth  bring 
forth  its  fruits,  and  the  wilderness  its  animals,  for  their  benefit. 
This  annual  sacrifice  was  celebrated  at  the  beginning  of  the  In- 
dian year,  late  in  January  or  early  in  February,  according  to  the 
phases  of  the  moon ;  the  Indian  year  being  reckoned,  as  all  na- 
tions once  reckoned,  by  moons.  Some  persons  have  jumped  at 
the  idea  of  this  dog  sacrifice  as  affording  evidence  of  a  Jewish 
origin  ;  but  the  Jews  sacrificed  only  oxen,  sheep  and  goats,  while 
the  dog  was  rejected  from  their  ceremonials  as  an  unclean  beast. 
The  mere  offering  of  sacrifices,  however,  signifies  but  little  as  in- 


60  THE     HESPERIAN. 


dicating  the  origin  of  races,  since  the  Egyptians,  the  Greeks,  the 
Romans,  the  early  Britons,  and  many  other  races  had  the  same 
custom  of  offeringmp  burnt  offerings.  The  Egyptians  venerated 
dogs  very  highly,  especially  white  dogs,  and  the  dog  Anubis  was 
one  of  their  principal  deities.  The  purification  of  a  sinful  person 
was  effected  by  dragging  a  white  dog  in  a  circle  around  him. 
The  Romans  used  to  have  a  festival  in  honor  of  the  she  wolf  that 
nursed  Eomulus,  at  which  they  sacrificed  a  dog  in  company  with 
two  goats. 

We  had  intended,  in  this  article,  to  allude  to  the  peculiar 
nature  of  Indian  sorcery  and  incantations,  Medaism,  or  Indian 
priestcraft,  the  character  and  influence  of  the  Medicine  Men,  and 
the  Jossakeeds  or  Prophets,  together  with  the  reasons  why  the 
Indian  mind  has,  for  the  most  part,  so  persistently  rejected  the 
Christian  faith,  and  to  explain  more  fully  and  more  definitely, 
than  has  hitherto  been  done,  by  any  author  whom  we  have  read, 
what  is,  or  was"  the  precise  notion  of  the  Indian  with  regard  to 
the  future  state,  whether  of  happiness  or  misery,  reward  or 
punishment.  But  we  are  compelled,  at  this  time,  to  be  brief, 
and  must  defer  the  discussion  of  these  interesting  topics  to  the 
next  number  of  the  Hesperian. 


These  people  who  wrap  themselves  in  pride  of  opinion  often  ap- 
plaud their  own  simplicity  and  narrowness  of  view.  A  man  may 
be  without  opinion  purely  because  he  sees  both  sides  of  the 
question,  and  accepts  both.  Why  for  instance,  must  I  either  be 
radical  or  conservative  ?  It  is  plain  that  if  radicalism  was  not 
held  in  pace  by  the  checkrein  of  conservatism,  it  would  dash 
along  at  a  speed  to  carry  us  all  headlong  into  ruin  and  a  social 
break-up.  It  is  equally  plain  that  if  conservatism  prevailed  uni- 
versally without  the  spur  of  radicalism,  there  would  be  no  pro- 
gress and  no  advancement.  We  should  stagnate  in  green  and 
mantling  stillness.  Antagonism  are  frequently  the  necessities  of 
moral  and  social  health ;  and  hence  radicalism  and  conservatism 
are  the  political  centripetal  and  centrifugal  forces  by  which  we 
secure  progress  and  developement,  without  endangering  the 
equilibrium  of  society. 


MARION'S     BIRTHDAY.      MARCH     18 


BY   MRS-    C.    J.    M' CLAIRE. 


One  year  ago,  this  very  day, 

Thy  little  life  begun  ; 
In  our  dear  Eastern  home  away, 

My  precious  little  one. 

One  year  ago,  one  little  year, 
So  fraught  with  care  and  pain. 

God  grant  such  bitter,  hopeless  tears, 
I  ne'er  may  weep  again. 

A  few  brief  days,  how  quickly  fled, 
Thy  Father's  kiss  was  pressed 

Upon  thy  brow ;  now  with  the  dead, 
They've  laid  him  down  to  rest. 

I  held  thee  to  my  aching  heart 
Through  all  that  dreadful  day, 

And  sat  beside  his  coffined  form, 
And  wept  the  night  away. 


Since  then  my  weary  days  hare  been 
Filled  up  with  grief  and  care  ; 

Thy  little  face  has  come  between 
My  spirit  and  despair. 

What  if  thy  little  breath  should  stop. 

Thy  dear  eye's  light  grow  dim  : 
I'd  spill  my  heart's  blood  drop  by  drop, 

To  shield  thy  life  from  sin. 

Oh  Thou,  whose  love  is  all  my  trust, 
Look  down  with  pitying  eye  ; 

Hear  Thou  a  widowed  mother's  prayer, 
God,  do  not  let  her  die. 


San  Francisco,  March  18,  1862. 


SOFT     ARNICA. 


(Arnica  mollis. — HookJ 
[  For   illustration,    see   page    50.  ] 


BY    DR.    A.    KELLOGG. 


This  very  valuable  native  plant  abounds  along  the  moist  mar- 
gins of  alpine  rivulets  and  in  the  rich  redwood  ravines  of  the 
Pacific  coast  of  California.  Our  outline  sketch  and  analysis 
were  drawn  from  fresh  specimens  kindly  furnished  us  by  Mr. 
Geo.  W.  Dunn,  from  the  vicinity  of  his  residence  just  back  of 
Oakland. 

Like  the  officinal  A.  montcma,  so  generally  known  and  highly 
appreciated,  our  plant  is  also  useful  for  similar  purposes.  Its 
active  salts  are  combined  with  a  peculiar  acid  called  igasuric. 
The  Soft  Arnica  contains  an  igasurate  of  strychnine  and  orucine 
upon  which  its  chief  medical  virtues  depend.  It  is  for  this 
reason  found  very  serviceable  in  palsy,  amaurosis,  and  rheumatic 
pains  and  stiffness  of  joints,  tumors,  and  in  some  forms  of  in- 
termittents  :  the  tincture  for  bruises,  sprains,  etc.,  is  too  well 
known  for  further  notice. 

It  is  a  very  tender  herbaceous  plant,  about  two  to  three 
feet  high,  of  a  somewhat  pale  yellowish  green  color,  clothed 
with  fine  soft  slightly  glutinous  hairs.  Unlike  the  common 
European  species,  it  has  opposite  and  alternate  stem  leaves  as 
well  as  a  cluster  of  leaves  at  the  root ;  the  texture  of  the  foliage 
is  remarkably  tender,  thin,  and  lax,  veins  large ;  3  to  5,  some- 
what united  nerves  at  the  base,  as  seen  at  No.  4 — doubly  and 
rather  deeply  toothed  with  wavy  or  undulate  margins,  the  leaf 
stems  long  and  stout.  No.  1  illustrates  the  natural  size  of  the 
heads,  although  upon  the  lower  lateral  branches  the  heads  are 
smaller  ;  the  chaff  sometimes  consists  of  an  inner  series  of  about 
six  separate  green  scales  dividing  the  central  disk  florets  from 
the  outer — but  all  are  generally  fertile.  No.  2  is  a  magnified 
floret  with  its  seed,  (30  to  40  in  a  head),  the  bristly  plumose 
pappus  set  upon  a  little  ring  ;  a  few  small  scales  of  an  obsolete 


SOFT    ARNICA.  63 


1nner  series  will  interest  the  curious  and  learned  observer.     No. 
3  the  root  and  portions  of  the  root-cluster  of  leaves. 

The  sensible  properties  of  this  plant  are,  to  the  taste,  a 
pleasant  bitterish  dandelion  flavor,  with  a  slight  cresslike  pun- 
gency ;  the  root,  however,  is  more  balsamic  and  biting,  produc- 
ing a  permanent  impression  upon  the  tongue  similar  to  the 
Eosin-plant  (Silphium)  root  or  slighter  than  the  Black  Sampson 
(Echinacea).  The  glutinous  exhudation  on  all  parts  is  also 
bitter  and  biting  like  the  plant  itself.  It  exhales  a  refreshing- 
odor  remotely  allied  to  apple  blossoms. 

Although  one  of  the  Leopard's  bane  family,  and  as  we  have 
seen,  abounding  in  strychnine — a  most  fearful  poison  to  the  car- 
niverous  animals — yet  this  herb  is  greedily  eaten  by  rabbits  or 
some  other  wild  animals,  for  it  rarely  escapes  cropping. 

As  it  might  prove  a  useful  hint,  we  would  state  that  during 
our  residence  in  the  Creek  Indian  country,  we  became  acquaint- 
ed with  one  of  their  methods  of  extracting  the  virtues  of  the 
roots  of  Siljjhhim  terebinthinaceum  (above  alluded  to)  unimpaired, 
for  external  use  in  rheumatism — also  a  favorite  compound  hair 
oil  highly  esteemed  by  them.  We  would  simply  say,  the  in- 
gredients were  bruised  or  cut  up  and  covered  with  certain 
animal  fats  or  oils  and  exposed  to  the  sun. 

We  trust  the  elaborate  efforts  made  to  furnish  every  facility 
in  our  power  for  the  acquisition  of  useful  knowledge  in  a  favor- 
ite branch  of  natural  science,  will  enable  the  casual  observer  to 
recognize  the  plant  here  described. 

In  most  cases,  it  has  been  our  object  to  avoid  technical  terms, 
as  far  as  practical ;  except  where  plants  are  new,  or  important 
additional  information  requires  more  precision.  If  at  any  time 
we  have  unnecessarily  trespassed  upon  the  readers  patience,  we 
apologize. 


"  Is  anybody  waiting  on  you,"  said  a  polite  dry  goods  clerk  to 
a  girl  from  the  country.  "  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  blushing  damsel, 
"  that's  my  feller  outside.     He  would  n't  come  in." 


THE    INFANT    ANGEL, 


BY  REV.   J.    D.    STRONG. 


Away  through  earth's  shadows, 

In  the  beautiful  spheres 
Where  the  spirit-heart  rests 

Unclouded  with  tears ! 
Away  through  earth's  shadows, 

Where  the  pure  in  thought 
Are  clad  in  the  robes 

God's  earth-life  hath  wrought 

Ere  unfolded  by  years 

Thy  spirit's  bloom, 
The  dark  winged  angel  i 

Had  written  thy  doom  ; 
For  he  blights  the  life, 

With  as  remorseless  power, 
Of  the  opening  bud 

As  the  faded  flower. 

Far  away  o'er  the  wave 

Where  spirit-feet  roam, 
The  angels  have  borne  thee 

To  the  beautiful  home ; 
For  what  recked  the  spoiler 

Of  our  grief  and  tears, 
Of  the  blight  of  our  life 

Or  the  gloom  of  our  years  ? 

Enfolded  forever 

By  Infinite  Love, 
Thou,  infant  angel, 

Now  callest  above ; 
And  through  earth's  sorrows 

We  press  on  to  thee, 
Where  hearts  never  part 

Through  eternity. 


ALL   IS   GOOD   AND   BEAUTIFUL. 


BY   JAMES   ALLEN. 


All  nature  is  but  art  unknown  to  thee, 

All  chance,  direction  which  thou  canst  not  gee ; 

All  discord,  harmony  not  understood ; 

All  partial  evil,  universal  good. 

And,  spite  of  pride,  in  erring  reason's  spite, 

One  truth  is  clear,  WHATEVER  IS,  IS  RIGHT. 

Pope's  Essay  on  Man. 

Some  souls  lose  all  things  but  the  love  of  beauty ; 
And  by  that  love  they  are  redeemable. 
For  in  love  and  beauty  they  acknowledge  GOOD, 
And  Good  is  God. 

Bailey's  Festui. 


There  are  certain  human  beings,  who,  from  an  unfortunate  cer- 
ebral organization,  a  mistaken  education,  or  vicious  associations — 
or  from  any  one  or  all  of  these  accidents — are  condemned  to  trav- 
el the  highway  of  life,  oblivious  to  the  beauties  and  blessings 
that  meet  them  at  every  step,  or,  with  distorted  mental  vision, 
finding  in  those  beauties  and  blessings  nought  but  ugliness  and 
evil.  These  are  wretches — wretches,  in  the  most  modern  and 
Websterian  sense  of  the  term,  and  not  at  all  in  that  applied  by 
the  gallant  and  uxorious  Othello  to  the  good  and  beautiful  Des- 
demona — wretches,  whom  it  is  charity  to  pity  and  folly  to  cen- 
sure. They  are  the  born  thralls  of  an  inexorable  necessity  from 
which  they  have  neither  the  volition  nor  the  power  to  escape, 
and  are  no  more  responsible  for  their  mental  and  moral  obliqui- 
ties, their  unseemly  temperaments,*  and  their  offensive  idiosyn- 
cracies,  than  for  their  statures  and  complexions.  They  are  just 
what  Dame  Nature  makes  them,  and  it  is  unphilosophical  and 
absurd  for  their  brethren,  who  are  more  generously  and  pleasant- 
ly fashioned,  to  quarrel  with  them.  The  same  Dame  Nature 
that  gives  existence  to  the  innocent  dove  extends  the  like  favor 
to  the  death-dealing  serpent.  She  transacts  her  affairs  in  her 
own  way,  and  to  find  fault  with  her  performances  is  irrational 
because  it  is  useless. 

There  is  neither  evil  nor  ugliness  in  the  Universe,  and  none 
but  perversely  constituted  minds  dare  assert  there  is.  The 
Theist — whether  a  believer  in  the  impersonal  Afflatus,  the  Soul 

2 


66  THE     HESPEKIAN. 


of  the  Universe,  of  Plato,  or  the  worshiper  of  the  personal  Je- 
hovah and  Allah  of  the  Hebrews  and  Arabs — who  admits  the 
existence  of  evil,  insults  his  Deity  and  accuses  him  of  either 
malevolence  or  imbecility.  If  an  omnipotent  creator  has  given 
existence  and  force  to  wickedness  and  misery  he  must  be  ma- 
levolent ;  and  to  preach  that  wickedness  and  misery  exist  inde- 
pendent of  the  creative  and  governing  principle,  is  to  deny  the 
attribute  of  omnipotence  to  that  principle  and  class  it  with  all 
else  that  is  imbecile.  No  true  philosopher  can  believe  the 
divine  author  of  the  Universe  to  be  the  author  of  a  principle  or 
power  opposed  to  himself,  or,  if  not  the  author  of  such  a  prin- 
ciple or  power,  that  he  would  suffer  it  to  exist.  And  the  Ma- 
terialist, whose  peculiar  cerebral  conformation  —  destitute  of 
ideality  and  marvelousness — leads  him  to  believe  the  Universe  a 
creatorless  entity,  without  beginning  or  end,  always  the  same  in 
substantiality  but  always  changing  its  forms  by  a  restless  ex- 
change and  intermixture  of  atoms,  and  all  governed  by  an  eter- 
nal and  chanceless  Necessity,  in  a  never-commencing  never-ter- 
minating chain  of  causes  and  effects,  he,  the  Materialist,  can  not 
admit  either  evil  or  ugliness  into  the  scope  of  his  geometrical 
philosophy  without  self-stultification. 

Is  pain  an  evil  ?  Human  ignorance  and  liuman  vanity  say  it 
is,  while  the  infallible  dictum  of  physiological  science  pro- 
nounces it  a  beneficent  sentinel,  on  the  ramparts  of  vitality, 
to  give  warning  of  danger  to  the  sensitive  citadel  within.  With- 
out pain  there  could  be  no'  continuous  animal  vitality,  because, 
without  it,  animal  vitality  would  be  like  a  blind  man,  wandering 
amid  innumerable  pitfalls,  liable  at  every  step  to  be  engulfed  in 
death.  The  normal  and  necessary  office  of  the  nerves  of  feeling, 
giving  notice  of  the  proximity  of  an  adversary  of  life,  can  not 
be  evil.  And  what  is  pain,  after  all  that  can  be  said  of  it,  but 
an  insignificant  physiological  phenomenon,  which  affects  but  one 
individual  amidst  myriads,  while  it  leaves  the  infinite  fabric  of 
the  Universe  unimpinged  and  unruffled.  Vain  and  ignorant 
mortal !  Dost  think,  because  thou  hast  the  toothache,  that  all 
mankind  should  groan  in  sympathy  and  the  stars  start  in  the 
madness  of  agony  from  their  spheres  ?     If  thus  thou  think' st, 


ALL   IS   GOOD   AND   BEAUTIFUL.  67 

think  always  thus ;  the  thought  will  give  thee  happiness,  though 
it  only  shows  to  the  philosopher  what  a  vast  magnitude  of  over- 
weeningness  may  be  wrapt  up  in  that  very  inconsiderable  atom 
of  matter  called  man  ! 

Is  crime — or  what  we  Americans  and  Europeans  call  crime 
— an  evil  ?  Human  opinions — though  the  history  of  human 
opinions  shows  them  to  be  too  vacillating  to  entitle  them  to 
much  respect — human  opinions  are  not  harmonious  in  the  an- 
swer to  this  query.  Mankind  have  failed  to  give  a  unanimous 
verdict  upon  any  one  of  those  acts  which,  in  America  and 
Europe,  are  denominated  crimes.  Murder,  with  whatever  hor- 
ror we  may  affect  to  regard  it,  has  not  only  its  apologists  but 
its  apostles  in  the  world.  A  very  large  and  conscientious  fra- 
ternity in  India — the  Thugs — make  murder  the  business  of  their 
lives,  esteeming  it  a  religious  duty,  especially  pleasing  to  the 
Deity,  who  will  reward  it  proportionably  to  the  zeal  and  activity 
manifested  in  its  performance.  Parricide,  among  many  nations 
of  North  American  Indians,  is  esteemed  an  act  of  sublime  virtue. 
When  the  age-stricken  father  and  mother  become  incapable  of 
following  the  chase  or  cultivating  the  maize,  the  dutiful  son 
sinks  his  tomahawk  into  their  brains  and  piously  sends  their  lib- 
erated spirits  to  the  bosom  of  their  Manitou,  there  to  revel  in 
celestial  venison  and  hominy.  Infanticide,  if  not  a  virtuous,  is, 
at  least,  a  tolerated  act  in  China  and  the  Polynesian  Isles,  while 
it  is  a  sanctioned  and  sanctified  affair  of  state  policy  in  the  Im- 
perial Court  of  the  Turkish  Sultan.  The  Japanese  make  sui- 
cide a  point  of  honor.  Robbery  is  the  serious  and  legitimated 
life-avocation  of  the  Camanche  and  Apache  and  also  of  the  Be- 
douin Arab.  To  be  brief,  there  is  a  marked  lack  of  agreement 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth  as  to  what  is  crime  and  what  is 
not — as  to  what  is  vice  and  what  is  virtue — and  thus,  in  the 
multitude  of  discrepancies  of  human  opinion,  mankind  have 
failed,  and  still  fail,  to  erect  a  common  standard  by  which  to  de- 
fine and  measure  that  shadowy  nothing,  that  word  without  a 
substantive,  which  venerable  error  has  written  in  our  vocabu- 
lary as  Evil. 

Those  grand  old  homicides,  the  Romans,  who  carried  murder 


68  THE   HESPERIAN. 


and  rapine  over  Europe  and  into  Asia  and  Africa,  carried  with 
them,  also,  civilization  and  the  arts  of  peace.  The  fanatical 
Crusaders,  who  dealt  out  fire  and  sword  in  Syria,  through  their 
zeal  for  the  cause  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Kedeemer  of  mankind, 
brought  back  with  them  to  Europe  the  superior  learning  and 
science  of  their  foes,  and  introduced  into  their  semi-barbarous 
homes  the  sublime  literature  and  ennobling  philosophy  of  An- 
cient Greece.  To  these  same  stupid  and  iron-hearted  bigots, 
who  drenched  Palestine  in  blood  for  the  sake  of  the  Blessed 
Messiah  and  His  Holy  Sepulchre,  modern  Europe  is  indebted  for 
the  germs  of  that  bright  and  dominating  civilization  which  she 
boasts,  and  which  we  inherit  in  America.  Avarice,  the  most 
sordid,  and  Ambition  the  most  insatiable,  stimulated  the  con- 
quest and  settlement  of  the  Continent  discovered  by  Columbus, 
and  laid  the  foundation  of  states  and  cities  which  we  fondly 
claim  to  be  the  pride  of  the  world.  What  the  heedless  histo- 
rian has  denounced  as  crime  has  often  proved  a  mysterious  link 
in  the  chain  of  human  progress  and  social  advancement.  The 
worst  actions  and  the  gratification  of  the  worst  passions  of  our 
race  have  resulted  in  the  best  of  consequences.  Why,  then, 
shall  we  dare  to  pronounce  actions  and  passions  as  Evil  whose 
ultimate  is  Good  ? 

Goodness  is  Beauty  and  Beauty  is  Goodness,  a  happy  duali- 
ty— one  and  inseparable — pervading  and  ruling  the  Universe, 
without  rivalry  and  without  mischance.  The  ancient  mycolo- 
gists of  Persia,  who  flourished  away  with  their  Ormozd  and 
Ahriman — ttieir  imaginary  good  and  evil  principles — gave  to 
Ormozd  the  attributes  of  Heat  and  Light,  while  to  his  co-existent 
and  irrepressible  foe,  Ahriman,  they  ascribed  Cold  and  Darkness. 
Between  these  two  powerful  opposites  there  was  supposed  to  be 
an  incessant  war  for  mastery,  Ormozd  continually  struggling  to 
bathe  all  nature  in  eternal  summer  and  sunshine,  while  his  per- 
verse adversary  was  just  as  assiduous  in  his  efforts  to  bind  the 
Universe  in  eternal  winter  and  shroud  it  in  eternal  night.  We, 
who  have  the  enlightenments  of  natural  philosophy  and  chem- 
istry to  aid  us,  who  know  something  about  the  properties  of 
matter  and  positive  and  negative  influences,  can  afford  to  laugh  at 


ALL    IS    GOOD    AND    BEAUTIFUL. 


69 


the  unphilosophical  notions  of  these  silly  old  Persians,  while  we 
cannot  help  admiring  the  elegant  sophistry  and  whimsical  ideal- 
ity with  which  their  mythology  was  constructed.  The  occa- 
sional and  temporary  absence  of  a  pleasure  is  as  necessary  to 
happiness  as  its  presence.  What  realizing  sense  could  we  have 
of  the  positive  delight  of  summer  and  sunshine  were  we  never 
to  experience  the  negative  inconvenience  of  their  absence  ? 
Health  and  freedom  from  pain  are  the  chiefest  of  all  positive 
benefactions  ;  and  yet,  how  sadly  misappreciated  they  too  often 
are,  until  their  absence  and  the  intrusion  of  their  negatives,  sick- 
ness and  grief,  prove  how  indispensable  they  are  to  the  full  en- 
joyment of  animal  existence.  That  wonderful  enthusiast,  Swe- 
denborg,  who  tempered  the  extravagances  of  his  theology  with 
the  severe  truths  of  philosophy,  was  so  well  aware  of  the  indif- 
ference and  ennui  which  a  monotony  of  even  the  highest  felicity 
would  engender,  that,  in  his  description  of  the  social  state  in 
Heaven,  he  tells  us  that  the  blessed  souls  are  sent  down  to  Hell, 
at  stated  seasons,  and  kept  there  long  enough  to  give  them  a 
fresh  and  vigorous  appetite  for  celestial  joys.  Human  happiness 
is  too  erratic  and  capricious,  and  too  dependent  on  contrasts  and 
heterogeneous  varieties  of  existence,  to  be  easily  reduced  to  a 
common  and  fixed  standard  of  estimation.  "  What  is  one  man's 
meat  is  another  man's  poison,"  is  an  adage  as  true  as  it  is  home- 
ly, and,  brief  as  it  looks  in  print,  embraces  a  volume  of  philosophy. 
In  the  pictorial. art,  shades  are  as  necessary  as  lights,  and,  in 
music,  discords  are  introduced  to  give  value  and  force  to  con- 
cords. Personal  and  social  vices  are  to  personal  and  social  vir- 
tues what  shades  are  to  lights,  in  pictures,  and  what  discords  are 
to  concords,  in  melodious  compositions.  What  appreciation 
would  we  have  of  bravery  if  it  were  not  relieved  by  the  black 
background  of  cowardice  ?  or  what  estimate  would  we  place  on 
the  liquid  melody  of  urbanity  and  kindliness  were  it  not  con- 
trasted by  the  dissonance  of  rudeness  and  quarrelsomeness  ? 
We  should  have  no  name  and  no  appreciation  for  summer,  were 
there  no  winter ;  none  for  sunshine,  were  there  no  night ;  none 
for  health,  were  there  no  sickness ;  none  for  joy,  were  there  no 
grief;  and  none  for  that  something  we  call  Virtue,  were  it  not 


70  THE     HESPERIAN. 


for  that  something  we  call  Vice.  Human  nature  is  a  grand  pic- 
ture, by  the  Universal  Artist,  or  a  grand  oratorio,  by  the  Univer- 
sal Maestro  ;  and,  without  its  lights  and  shades,  its  concords  and 
discords,  it  would  be  imperfect  and  unworthy  of  the  Infinite 
Genius  that  produced  it. 

What  is  physical  beauty  ?  It  is  the  arbitrary,  partial,  and 
capricious  estimate  of  objects,  formed  by  the  mind,  under  cer- 
tain felicitous  or  infelicitous  conditions,  and  is,  therefore,  as  un- 
certain and  fugitive  as  those  conditions.  The  belle  of  a  Hong- 
kong dandy  would  have  but  few  charms  for  a  dandy  of  San 
Francisco,  and  vice  versa.  The  Chinese  drama,  with  all  its  inge- 
nious accessories  of  tinseled  dresses  and  one-stringed  fiddles, 
would  fail  in  delighting  our  bon  to?i,  while  our  Forrest  and  Julia 
Dean  Hayne  would  be  voted  insufferable  bores  by  the  play-goers 
of  Pekin.  There  is,  however,  such  a  thing  as  Beauty,  and  all 
Nature  is  full  of  ii ;  for  Beauty  is  Nature,  and  Nature  is  all 
things.  In  the  scale  of  animal  existences,  the  serpent  and  the 
alligator,  to  the  eyes  of  the  true  philosopher,  are  things  of  as 
much  beautiful  interest  as  the  rose-lipped  virgin  or  the  gaily 
plumed  bird  of  paradise.  They  are  beautiful  to  the  contempla- 
tive mind,  because  they  are  links  in  that  wondrously  progressive 
chain  of  animality,  which  runs  from  the  depths  of  the  mollusca 
to  the  highest  type  of  breathing  excellence,  as  found  in  the  Cau- 
casian branch  of  humanity.  From  the  lowest  to  the  highest — 
from  the  worm  to  the  Caucasian,  from  the  humble  moss  to  the 
cedar  of  Lebanon,  from  lead  to  gold — every  animal,  every  plant, 
and  every  mineral  occupies  its  appropriate  place,  fulfills  its  ap- 
propriate duty,  and  preaches  its  appropriate  lessons  of  wisdom 
to  observant  and  contemplative  man.  To  be  good  is  to  be  hap- 
py, and  goodness  and  happiness  are  but  other  terms  for  the 
beautiful.     For  "  all  is  good  and  all  is  beautiful  ! " 


Life  is  a  journey,  and  they  only  who  have  traveled  a  consider 
able  way  in  it  are  fit  to  direct  those  who  are  just  setting  out. 


TO  MRS.  B . 

On  meeting  after  an  absence  of  many  years. 


BY   MRS.    S.   M.    CLARKE. 


'Tis  many  a  year  since  last  we  met — 
And  many  a  mile,  has  parted — 

Yet  time  and  space  we'll  not  regret, 
But  meet  again  light-hearted. 

'Tis  true  our  eyes  are  dimmer  now, 
And  tell  a  tale  of  weeping  ; 

'Tis  true  that  Care  upon  our  brow 
Her  record  has  been  keeping. 

'Tis  true  the  Winter  of  our  days 
Its  mystic  thread  is  twining, 

That  thro'  our  auburn  hair  in  rays 
Of  silvery  white  is  shining. 

'Tis  true  that  many  loved  have  flown 
And  left  our  pathway  lonely — 

'Tis  true  the  brightest  joys  we've  known 
Have  turned  to  sorrow  only. 

But  Time  brings  balm  beneath  his  wings 
To  soothe  our  pain  and  sorrow ; 

And  Hope  her  iris  o'er  us  flings. 
The  promise  of  tomorrow. 

And  thought  and  feeling,  ever,  more 
Those  fading  charms  replaces — 

The  Soul  grows  lovelier  for  the  store 
Of  all  its  hard  earned  graces, 

Then  let  us  meet  as  once  we  met, 
Ere  time  and  space  had  parted — 

For  Heaven  is  bright  above  "us  yet, 
And  we'll  look  up  light-hearted. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  OLD  ROUND  TOWER 

AT    NEWPORT,  E.  I. 


BY   MRS.    JAMES    NEALL. 


Wild  was  the  wassail  in  the  halls  of  brave  Erik  Raudi,  the 
Norseman,  on  a  stormy  night  in  December,  towards  the  close  of 
the  year  1002.  Wild  was  the  wassail,  yet  still  wilder  the 
shout  that  went  up,  as  Thorstein  Frode,  the  Saga,  finished  the 
recitation  of  a  warlike  poem,  written  by  their  favorite  Scald, 
Thorareu. 

"  Let  us  drink,"  said  Erik,  "  to  the  brave  deeds  of  brave  men. 
Would  there  were  those  now  who,  honored  in  song,  might  live 
centuries  hence  in  the  memory  of  the  Norsemen ;  but  the  time 
has  gone  by  for  daring  deed  and  daring  thought,  since  these 
Christian  missionaries  have  come  among  us,  denouncing  Odin, 
the  god  of  battles,  as  an  idol,  only  worthy  of  contempt." 

Dark  eyes  flashed  with  indignation  as  Raudi  spoke,  and  more 
than  one  brawny  ami  held  up  a  spear  denouncingly  and  mut- 
tered vows  of  vengeance.  But  the  mood  lasted  not  long,  for  the 
table  was  again  replenished,  and  the  glasses  clinked  together  as, 
drinking,  they  rose  in  honor  of  Odin,  the  god  of  battles.  The 
logs  on  the  hearth  blazed  np  fiercely,  and  throwing  a  lurid  glare 
over  the  room,  revealed  its  vast  proportions.  Circular,  as  most 
of  the  dwellings  of  the  Norsemen  at  that  period  were,  it  ap- 
peared still  larger,  as  the  bare  and  uncarpeted  floor  echoed  back 
the  footfalls  of  the  few  domestics,  who  were  moving  to  and  fro 
among  the  guests  assembled  round  the  board. 

"  A  noble  boar,  that,"  said  Hans  Ohter,  surveying  the  huge 
dish  which  was  now  placed  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  which 
contained  a  boar,  roasted  whole ;  "  but  I  see  he  has  left  the 
marks  of  his  tusks  upon  your  hand,  though  I  doubt  not  the  Lady 
Gudrida  has  medicinal  skill,  and  you  will  not  lack  tender  nur- 
sing." He  laughed  sneeringly,  as  replenishing  his  glass,  he  pro- 
posed, "  Success  to  Leif,  son  of  Raudi,  in  his  wooing."  A  dark 
scowl,  like  a  thunder-cloud  at  midnight,  passed  over  the  face  of 
Leif,  as,  not,  noticing  the  latter  part  of  the  speech,  he  replied : 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  OLD  ROUND  TOWER.  73 

"  A  mere  scratch,  Hans  Ohter,  but,  I  venture  to  say,  a  deeper 
wound  than  the  tusk  of  a  boar  will  ever  leave  upon  your  hand." 
Hans  Ohter  winced  under  the  galling  remark,  for  he  was  pro- 
verbially unsuccessful  in  the  chase,  and  many  a  day  had  gone  by 
since  his  spear  had  struck  death  into  an  animal  so  huge  as  that 
which  Raudi  was  now  helping  plentifully  around  to  his  guests. 
But  he  replied  not,  for  his  temper  was  not  hasty,  yet  revenge  sat 
brooding  like  some  foul  thing  in  his  heart,  and  he  resolved  that 
the  blood  of  Leif  Raudi  should  stain  his  sword  ere  the  night  was 
over.  "  Aha  ! "  thought  he,  "  I  seek  for  higher  game,  and  when 
my  spear  is  wet  with  the  heart's  blood  of  this  insolent  Norse- 
man, they  dare  not  taunt  Hans  Ohter  with  cowardice." 

Little  did  the  rude  and  uneducated  man  conceive  that  this 
was  an  exhibition  of  the  meanest  cowardice.  Brute  force  is  ever 
the  weapon  of  the  morally  weak,  and  misguided  Hans  Ohter 
triumphed  in  the  belief  that  killing  his  enemy  was  the  greatest 
proof  of  courage  he  could  give.  Broils,  even  among  the  near- 
est kinsmen,  were  not  uncommon  among  the  Norsemen,  and  fre- 
quently the  festive  board  was  made  the  scene  of  fierce  and  loud 
contest.  Such  a  quarrel  it  was  the  intention  of  Hans  Ohter  to 
foment,  on  the  night  in  question,  and  then,  taking  advantage  of 
the  confusion  which  he  knew  would  be  created,  to  draw  his 
spear  and  inflict  upon  Leif  a  fatal  wound.  Though  not  avowed 
enemies,  they  had  in  secret  entertained  a  mutual  dislike  for  each 
other,  for  both  had  aspired  to  win  the  fair  hand  of  G-udrida,  who 
dwelt  beneath  the  roof  of  Raudi,  under  his  parental  care,  hav- 
ing been  consigned  to  him  for  protection  when  deprived  by  death, 
a  few  years  before,  of  her  natural  guardians. 

She  was  a  daring,  impetuous  creature,  and  she  spurned,  with 
more  of  contempt  than  gentleness,  the  profered  love  of  Hans 
Ohter. 

"  Nay,  father  Raudi,"  said  she,  when  informed  that  the 
wealthy  Hans  had  chosen  her  to  be  his  bride,  "methinks  he  who 
is  ever  hindmost  in  the  chase,  would  make  but  a  tedious  lover. 
Bear  him  back  a  message,  I  pray  thee,  and  say  Gudrida's  heart 
is  a  thing  no  wealth  can  buy,  even  with  so  worthy  a  personage 
as  Hans  Ohter  appended  thereto." 


74  THE     HESPERIAN. 


Raudi  looked  with  admiration  upon  the  lovely  maiden,  as  she 
made  the  bold  reply,  yet  he  besought  her  to  reflect,  ere  she 
finally  decided  upon  rejecting  so  advantageous  an  alliance.  "  Our 
northern  homes,"  said  he,  "are  rude  and  bare,  and  Hans  is  the 
wealthiest  Norwegian  in  the  district." 

"  And  what  care  I  for  his  wealth  ?  He  may  sink  his  riches 
in  the  Maelstrom,  dear  father  Raudi,"  replied  the  maiden,  "  and 
if  he  rides  down  on  a  bar  of  gold  to  see  the  mermaidens,  I  will 
wish  him  a  prosperous  journey ;  but  may  all  the  gods  heap  ig- 
nominy on  the  name  of  Gudrida,  if  it  is  ever  linked  with  one  so 
vile  in  her  sight  as  that  of  Ohter  ! " 

"As  thou  wilt — as  thou  wilt,  lady  ;  but,  remember,  golden 
bait  is  but  scarce  among  the  fishermen  of  Norway,  and  thou 
may'st  angle  long  ere  such  another  chance  will  be  thine." 

"  Nay,  I  stoop  not  to  angle,"  said  she,  haughtily  ;  "  but  give 
me  freedom  and  poverty,  rather  than  serfdom  with  so  small  a 
soul  as  dwells  in  the  shrunken  and  cowardly  frame  of  my 
wealthy  lover."  And  lightly  she  laughed,  as,  moving  forward, 
she  imitated  the  shuffling  and  ungraceful  gait  of  Ohter,  and  left 
the  apartment. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  day  that  he  had  received  an 
answer  so  unpropitious  to  his  hopes,  that  Raudi's  guests  were  as- 
sembled in  his  hospitable  mansion,  and,  smarting  with  disappoint- 
ment, Hans  Ohter  was  ready  to  vent  his  spleen  upon  any  one  with 
whom  he  could  even  imagine  cause  of  affront.  It  was  no  marvel, 
then,  that  Leif  Raudi  should  have  felt  the  force  of  his  anger,  as 
from  an  inadvertent  word  dropped  by  the  elder  Raudi,  he  was  in- 
duced to  believe  his  suit  was  repelled  and  himself  scorned,  for  the 
sake  of  his  son.  Nor  was  Leif  slow  to  resent  insult.  Yet  even 
among  those  untutored  in  the  concealments  of  civilization,  there 
is  an  innate  sense  of  delicacy  which  will  prevent  the  mention  of 
a  beloved  one's  name  as  the  cause  of  enmity  between  foes.  And 
though  hot-blooded,  in  general,  Leif  seemed  more  than  usually  dis- 
posed to  overlook  the  taunting  remarks  of  his  unsuccessful  rival. 
There  is  a  point,  however,  beyond  which  to  forbear  is  no  longer 
magnanimity — it  becomes  cowardice.  And  the  last  sentence  of 
-Ohter,  whispered  in  the  ear  of  Leif,  relative  to  Gudrida,  had 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  OLD  ROUND  TOWER.  75 

scarce  died  away,  ere  the  latter  had  drawn  his  spear  and  inflicted 
a  blow  upon  the  wealthiest  guest  at  his  father's  table. 

"  Hold,  there  ! "  exclained  Eaudi,  as  Hans,  pale  with  rage, 
was  about  to  return  the  blow.  "  Has  Leif,  my  son,  forgotten 
the  rites  of  hospitality,  that  he  should  thus  insult  the  honored 
guest  of  his  father  ?  " 

"  And  who,"  interrupted  Leif,  "  would  dishonor  by  his  foul 
insinuations  the  fair  fame  of  my  father's  ward  ?  Nay,  I  spurn 
him  from  the  board,  and  when  his  foot  again  crosses  the  thres- 
hold, it  must  be  because  the  arm  of  Leif  Raudi  is  too  weak  to 
strike !  Shall  a  descendant  of  the  bold  Vikings  of  old  Norway 
tamely  submit  to  the  taunts  of  a  vile  reptile  like  this  ?  " 

At  the  allusion  to  the  name  of  the  Lady  Gudrida,  spears  were 
drawn,  and  menacing  attitudes  were  assumed  by  many  of  the 
guests,  for  not  a  few  among  them  were  kinsman  of  Erick ;  and 
though  the  brave  old  man  knew  too  well  he  dare  not  resent  as  he 
would  the  insolence  of  Ohter  at  his  own  board,  yet  there  was  a 
fire  in  his  eye,  which  told,  more  plainly  than  words,  that  he  also 
longed  to  bury  his  spear  in  the  dastardly  heart  of  his  guest. 
But  Ohter  had  other  consequences  in  view  while  fomenting  this 
quarrel.  It  was  not  to  draw  upon  himself  the  vengeance  of  the 
friends  and  followers  of  Erik,  but  to  excite  his  own  to  take  sides 
in  the  contest,  and  thus  engage  in  a  general  broil,  all  assembled. 
But  he  overshot  his  mark.  Many  knew  that  he  had  hopes  of 
winning  Gudrida,  for  he  boasted  that  his  riches  would  conquer 
the  heart  of  the  lovliest  maiden  in  Norway,  even  though  she  was 
inaccessible  as  the  pine  upon  the  top  of  the  snow  covered  mount- 
ains, to  all  others.  "  The  sun  reaches  the  pine,"  said  he,  "  and 
what  the  warm  sun  is  to  it,  shall  I  be  to  Gudrida.  She  shall  live 
but  for  my  smiles,  and  though  many  may  covet,  none  shall  dare 
approach  her."  This  braggart  speech  had  not  been  uttered  with- 
out creating  enemies,  for  the  lady  Gudrida  was  a  favorite  with 
all.  And  notwithstanding  Ohter  had  so  much  in  his  power,  he 
had  yet  to  learn,  that  a  noble  and  manly  bearing,  and  a  brave 
heart  is  of  more  worth  than  uncounted  gold.  Yet  he  had  his 
friends  too,  if  mercenaries,  could  be  called  friends,  who  were 
ready  to  espouse  his  cause  in  the  basest  aggression  upon  others. 
Gathering  them  about  him,  he   bid  defiance  to  Leif,  and  was 


76  THE   HESPERIAN. 


about  quitting  the  dwelling  of  Erik,  muttering  vows  of  vengeance, 
when  his  foot  stumbled,  and  he  fell  prostrate  upon  the  earthen 
floor.  A  loud  shout  was  sent  up  by  the  revellers,  many  of  whom 
were  intoxicated  by  the  beverages  of  which  they  had  largely 
partaken ;  and  a  ringing  laugh  echoed  round  the  apartment, 
which  was  caught  up,  and  reiterated  again  and  again,  as  Ohter 
now  completely  aroused,  regained  his  footing.  Rushing  headlong 
towards  Leif  with  his  spear  drawn,  and  with  the  deadly  maligni- 
ty of  hatred  in  his  eyes,  he  poised  it  a  moment,  and  then  hurled 
it  at  his  intended  victim — but  it  missed  aim,  and  fell  with  a 
clinking  sound  some  few  paces  behind.  In  another  instant,  Hans 
Ohter  lay  extended  on  the  floor,  speechless  and  weltering  in  his 
blood ;  while  over  his  prostrate  form,  stood  Leif,  exultant. 

When  a  murder  has  been  done,  when  the  pulse  of  life  is 
stopped  violently,  there  is,  even  among  the  most  rude,  a  sudden 
sensation  of  horror  at  the  deed :  and  flashing  eyes  already  warned 
Lief  that  his  own  life  was  in  danger.  For  the  present,  however, 
all  turmoil  was  over.  The  followers  of  Ohter  bore  him,  still 
bleeding,  to  his  own  dwelling,  which  was  not  far  distant.  The 
lights  were  extinguished,  and  such  guests  as  were  sobered  by  the 
fatal  scene,  left  silently,  and  with  celerity  sought  their  own  re- 
sidences. It  may  seem  strange  that  such  things  should  be,  and 
yet  excite  so  little  emotion.  But  when  vengeance  takes  reprisal 
into  its  own  hands,  it  is  ever  thus.  The  Jails  of  Norway  overlooked 
civil  strife,  yet  well  aware  that  the  kindred  of  Ohter  would  de- 
mand the  price  of  blood. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

It  was  midnight ;  Gudrida,  prevented  from  sleeping  by  the 
turmoil  below,  had  an  hour  previous,  sent  one  of  the  old  domes- 
tics to  enquire  the  cause  of  the  unusual  disturbance.  For  al- 
though, as  we  have  said,  such  affrays  were  not  uncommon,  yet 
they  seldom  resulted  so  fatally  as  in  the  present  instance.  Hans 
Ohter  was  dead ,  and  Leif  must  either  fly,  or  be  subjected  to  hourly 
danger  of  assassination.  In  the  present  day,  we  should  scarce 
think  that  even  love  could  go  so  far  as  to  clasp  in  affection  a  hand 
dripping  as  it  were  with  blood.  But  when  we  see  the  lauded 
heroes  of  the  battle  field,  receiving  the  homage  of  gentle  hearts, 
who  would  shrink  from  contact  with  a  murderer — we  are  not  sur- 
prised that  the  thoughts  of  Gudrida  dwelt,  less  on  the  death  of 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  OLD  ROUND  TOWER.  77 

Ohtcr,  than  on  the  dangerous  position  of  his  more  favored  rival. 
Leif  had  never  intimated  in  words  his  affection  for  Gudrida :  he 
had  never  said,  "  I  love  you  "  ;  but  he  had  of  late  used  the  thou, 
indicative  of  more  than  common  friendship  among  the  Norwegi- 
ans, and  the  unexpressed  emotions  of  his"  heart  were  as  well  un- 
derstood by  her,  as  though  he  had  given  them  language.  The 
magnetism  of  love  is  one  whose  operation  is  universal ;  and 
though  standing  at  the  extreme  ends  of  the  chords  of  communi- 
cation, those  who  are  under  the  influence  of  this  passion,  know 
full  well  the  meaning  of  an  electric  thrill  from  heart  to  heart, 
which  is  unrevealable  to  the  uninitiated. 

It  was  midnight,  and  as  Gudrida  looked  out  upon  the  mag- 
nificent splendor  of  the  star  spangled  heavens,  and  drank  in,  with 
an  earnest  gaze,  the  wild  beauty  of  the  northern  scenery,  she  felt 
how  dear  was  the  place  she  held  in  the  heart  and  in  the  home  ol 
old  Erik  Haudi.  But  dearer,  ah  !  dearer  a  thousand  fold  in  the 
estimation  of  the  maiden,  was  Leif.  She  esteemed,  respected, 
loved  Erik  Raudi,  but  she  revered,  almost  worshipped  his  son. 
Although  a  daughter  of  the  cold  north,  there  was  a  warmth  and 
passionateness  in  her  nature,  which  never  left  her  undecided  be- 
tween love  and  hate,  and  in  proportion  to  the  bitterness  of  her  hatred 
to  Hans  Ohter,  was  her  ardent  love  for  Leif.  The  morning  dawned 
ere  she  turned  her  gaze  from  the  world  without.  Silently  mus- 
ing, she  had  been  watching  the  moon,  as  rising  higher,  it  silvered 
with  a  more  effulgent  ray  the  gorgeous  ice  spangles  which  decked 
the  bosom  of  the  earth,  as  if  to  make  amends  with  sparkling 
jewelry  for  its  unattractive  hardness.  And  the  distant  mountains 
too ! — as  snow  capped  they  stood  out  in  majestic  relief  against 
the  clouds.  How  clung  her  thought  to  the  memory  of  hours 
passed  in  clambering  with  him  their  rough  and  uneven  sides. 
She  dreaded  the  idea  of  a  separation ;  yet  she  knew  Leif  would 
not  ask  her  to  share  an  exile  so  protracted  as  his  must  necessarily 
be.  "Worried  and  anxious,  her  excitement  at  last  found  calm 
and  repose  in  gentle  sleep  :  and  after  a  few  hours  rest,  she  arose 
with  a  clearer  comprehension  than  before  of  the  events  of  the 
preceding  night. 

In  the  heart  of  Leif  there  was  no  compunctuous  visitings  of 
conscience  for  what  he  had  done.  It  was  the  national  code  of 
morals  to  return  injury  for  injury ;  and  though  the  missionaries 


78  THE    HESPERIAN. 


had  endeavored  to  infuse  a  more  christian  creed  into  the  minds 
of  the  benighted  Norwegians,  but  few  had  listened  to,  and  fewer 
still  adopted  the  maxims  they  inculcated.  A  long  race  of  an- 
cestors had  upheld  the  doctrine  of  retaliation,  and  why  should 
they  now  abandon  usages,  rendered  sacred  by  time  ?  False  rea- 
soners !  to  uphold  error  because  it  was  hoary  with  age.  Tet  in 
our  own  time  how  many  do  the  same.  Erik  Raudi  himself  ad- 
mired the  boldness  and  promptness  of  his  son,  in  defending  the 
fair  fame  of  Gudrida  from  the  aspersions  of  falsehood  and  malig- 
nity, and  although  his  paternal  feelings  conflicted  with  his 
opinions,  he  did  not  deny  the  right  of  the  kinsmen  and  followers 
of  the  murdered  Hans  Ohter,  to  seek  vengeance  on  the  destroyer 
of  his  life.  He,  it  was,  who  counseled  Leif  to  fly ;  for  there  is 
always  danger  where  lurks  the  secret  assassin,  and  the  old  man 
felt  that  Leif  would  not  be  safe  after  the  interment  of  Ohter. 
Till  that  was  over,  it  would  have  been  considered  almost  sacrilege 
to  assail  him.  A  species  of  taboo,  still  unexplained,  yet  in  force 
a  long  time  after  that  date. 

About  a  year  previous  to  this  time,  Bjarne,  an  Icelander  by 
birth,  and  a  navigator  of  no  inconsiderable  reputation,  had  re- 
turned from  a  voyage  to  Greenland,  and  in  the  details  of  various 
circumstances  connected  with  it,  had  mentioned  casually  to  Erik 
Raudi,  that  adverse  winds  having  driven  him  southwardly  for 
several  days,  he  had  descried  from  the  mast-head  of  his  vessel  a 
flat  country  covered  with  wood,  but  in  appearance  so  different 
from  Greenland,  that  he  was  tempted  to  make  sail  towards  it. 
Want  of  provisions,  however,  had  induced  him  to  continue  his 
voyage  without  landing.  This  information  had  at  the  time  some- 
what excited  the  imagination  of  Erik,  as  he  was  himself  a  bold 
and  adventurous  Viking,  and  he  had  more  than  once  determined 
on  prosecuting  the  discovery  made  by  Bjarne.  The  idea  now 
again  took  possession  of  his  mind ;  instead,  therefore,  of  setting 
sail  himself,  he  proposed  the  desired  expedition  to  his  son ;  and, 
although  incredulous  regarding  its  success,  Lief  consented,  stipu- 
lating, first,  to  pass  the  winter  in  Greenland,  and  endeavor  to  pre- 
vail on  Bjarne  to  part  with  his  ship  and  men,  for  the  service. 
To  this  Raudi  saw  no  objection,  as  he  was  quite  able  to  supply 
funds  for  the  intended  purchase.  And  cautioning  him  to  pre- 
serve secresy  regarding  his  final  destination,  preparations  were 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  OLD  BOUND  TOWER.  79 

made  for  his  departure  from  Norway.  It  was  on  the  evening 
succeeding  the  one  so  fatal  to  Hans  Ohter,  that  Lief,  sitting  be- 
side Gudrida,  informed  her  of  his  intention  of  passing  the  rest  of 
the  winter  in  Greenland,  hinting  to  her,  somewhat  obscurely, 
the  scheme  his  father  had  proposed,  although  he  had  scarce  a 
hope  of  its  success  ;  yet  he  loved  her  too  well,  to  depress  her 
naturally  elastic  spirits  by  the  mention  of  his  doubts.  He  had 
risen  while  speaking,  and  was  now  looking  into  her  eyes,  with  a 
solemn  gaze,  as  laying  his  hand  upon  her  forehead:  he  said,  "  Thou 
and  I,  also  must  part." 

But  she  heeded  him  not,  sitting  so  rigidly  upright,  so  deathlike 
in  her  unsmiling  silence.  In  her  eyes  was  a  gleam  like  that  of 
living  light ;  opened  to  their  fullest  extent,  they  seemed  to  be 
looking  into  futurity,  as  though  striving  to  see  something  beyond, 
that  was  partly  o'ershadowed  by  clouds — so  intense  was  their 
expression  of  eagerness.  Thus  she  remained  for  the  space  of 
several  minutes;  but  at  last  she  rose,  also — still  that  earnest 
gaze,  as  though  her  whole  body,  illuminated,  had  concentrated 
into  its  visual  organs  its  exceeding  and  unearthly  brightness. 
Pointing  with  her  fingers  straight  before  her,  like  an  inspired 
Pythoness,  she  stood,  and  uttered  words  which  after  ages  have 
made  oracular  : 

"I  see  it,"  said  she,  "I  see  it.  A  wild  shore,  where  the  waves  dash 
and  the  waters  roar,  tumultuous  in  their  hurrying  speed,  to  bathe 
the  rocks  with  their  surges.  Beyond,  are  tall  and  beautiful  for- 
est trees,  unlike  the  pines  of  my  own  native  Norway,  but  which, 
swaying  in  graceful  undulations,  give  a  more  serene  aspect  to  the 
loveliness  of  nature.  Oh  !  vine-covered  lands,  and  glorious  riv- 
ers, ye  shall  yet  be  the  home  of  love  ;  but  nations,  in  after  years, 
shall  trace  evidence  of  the  Norseman's  tarriance,  only  by  the 
rude  tower,  marking  the  spot  where  Leif  Raudi  and  his  brave 
companions  worshipped  the  gods."  For  a  moment,  the  lids  of 
Gudrida  fell  heavily,  but  again  she  raised  them,  and  resumed  : 
"  Centuries  shall  roll  over  the  world,  and  on,  yet  on,  shall  move 
the  wheels  of  time — yet  standing  at  this  gateway  and  entrance 
of  my  new  life,  I  look,  and  behold  a  long  vista  of  arches,  which 
time  hath  reared ;  but  broken  and  crumbling  into  dust  are  they, 


80  THE    HESPERIAN. 


and  the  years  they  mark  have  vanished,  as  the  smoke  of  burning 
incense.  Yet,  who  is  it,  reading  the  dim  inscriptions  written  on 
their  ruins?  One,  whose  path  is  alone — whose  heart  knows  not 
the  experience  of  sympathy  from  his  race  ;  whose  grasping  in- 
tellect would  fain  decipher,  and  hold  up  to  other  eyes,  the 
records  upon  which  he  has  founded  his  great  idea  of  an  undis- 
covered world.  His  name  shall  ring  in  the  ears  of  men  ;  but 
that  of  Leif  Raudi  shall  go  down  to  the  dust.  Accident,  to  one, 
shall  discover  lands  unknown ;  to  the  other,  Thought,  Toil  and 
Study  shall  bring  the  renown  of  having  found  a  new  world." 

The  spell  was  over — the  magnetism  which  had  enabled  Gu- 
drida,  in  her  mesmeric  state,  to  penetrate  into  the  future,  had 
expended  itself.  But  awe  and  wonder  were  written  in  the  coun- 
tenance of  her  lover.  He  could  not  comprehend  the  mighty 
mystery.  His  will  had  been  stronger  than  his  words,  when  he 
said,  "  Thou  and  I  must  part."  The  will,  which  said,  "  we  part 
never,"  had  acted  on  her  sensitive  nature,  and  produced  strange 
results.  How,  or  why,  her  far-seeing  spirit  became  endowed 
with  its  supernal  vision,  we  know  not :  it  is  a  subject  shrouded, 
as  yet,  in  obscurity.  But  science  is  slowly  revealing  its  deep 
and  marvellous  meanings,  though  ages  yet  may  roll,  ere  we  fully 
understand  "  The  electric  chain  with  which  we  are  darkly 
bound."  That  Gudrida's  allusions  to  the  great  discoveries  of 
of  Columbus  were  clear  to  herself,  is  doubted.  Nor  did  she 
ever  after,  voluntarily,  speak  of  her  state.  She  knew  not  the 
import  of  her  words,  although  conscious  that,  for  the  time,  she 
had  felt  a  strange  electric  sensation  ;  and  when  Leif  again  repeated 
them,  they  conveyed  to  her  no  remembrance  of  aught  she  had 
ever  thought  or  spoken  before.  "  If,"  said  she,  "  the  gods  have 
whispered  to  my  spirit,  it  is  but  meet  I  listen,  and  obey.  To- 
gether we  will  seek  this  unknown  country,  of  which  thy  father, 
Erik,  speaks  in  terms  so  glowing,  and  it  yet  may  be,  that  peace 
will  come  to  our  troubled  souls,  as  we  heed  the  oracles  of  the 
beneficent  deities  of  the  North." 

The  stern-hearted  Norseman  was  melted  by  the  generous  and 
noble  conduct  of  Guclrida ;  yet  he  hesitated  between  his  love 
and  a  sense  of  duty — the  former  of  which  impelled  him  gladly 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  OLD  BOUND  TO  WEE.  81 

to  avail  himself  of  her  willingness  to  accompany  him,  while  the 
latter  prompted  him  to  place  in  a  conspicuous  light,  all  the  dis- 
comforts and  hardships  she  would  have  to  endure,  as  his  com- 
panion in  so  stormy  and  uncertain  a  voyage  as  he  doubted  not 
this  would  be.  This  generous  feeling  prevailed — for  noble  im- 
pulses almost  always  beget  their  like — and  Leif  followed  the 
promptings  of  justice,  rather  than  the  dictates  of  his  heart,  in 
imparting  to  Grudrida  some  knowledge  of  the  manifold  trials 
and  sufferings  she  would  be  compelled  to  undergo,  should  she 
persevere  in  her  resolution  to  accompany  him. 

She  listened  calmly,  but  her  resolution  remained  unshaken. 
It  had  not  been  heedlessly  made,  and  she  felt  the  time  had 
arrived  now  to  test  her  courage — no  shrinking  from  what  she 
believed  to  be  right. 

Erik  Raudi  mourned,  as  well  as  rejoiced,  when  Grudrida  bade 
him  farewell.  With  an  exceeding  tenderness  he  had  watched 
her  ripening  years,  the  more  so,  that  no  daughter  of  his  own  had 
ever  been  born  unto  him,  and  he  felt  that  with  the  going  out  of 
her  presence,  light  was  departing  from  his  household ;  he  had 
called  her  the  Aurora  Borealis  of  the  dark  Norway  winter  ;  and 
stern  and  cold  as  he  was  to  others,  he  commended  her  to  the 
protection  of  Thor  and  Freya,  with  an  earnestness  proportioned 
to  his  affection. 

Out  on  the  raging  waters,  some  few  months  later  than  this, 
rode  a  rude  Norwegian  bark,  but  fearless  and  courageous  were 
the  hearts  within.  They  had  been  tempest  tost  and  wave  beaten 
long,  and  some  murmured,  but  generally  the  men  wore  cheerful 
faces  and  dwelt  in  hope.  It  was  the  ship  of  Leif :  and  gradually 
he  was  nearing  the  unknown  coast  of  North  America. 

A  few  days  longer  of  suspense  and  expectation  and  land  was  in 
view.  The  vessel  was  anchored,  and  the  men  with  joyful  hearts 
stood  upon  the  shore.  Strange  and  wonderful  was  the  sight  to 
Grudrida,  as  borne  through  the  breakers  in  the  arms  of  Leif,  her 
husband,  she  lifted  the  gaze  of  her  blue  eyes  to  the  rock-bound 
coast.  It  was  a  familiar  spot ;  and  in  it  she  recognized  the 
counterpart  of  the  picture,  delineated  so  vividly  in  her  sleepless 
dream.       Only  the  rude  tower  was   wanting   to    complete  its 

3 


82  THE   HESPERIAN. 


reality.  Till  now  she  could  never  recall  distinctly  the  image 
then  presented,  but  as  a  thing  of  memory  it  was  at  once  before 
her,  and  she  bowed  her  head  upon  the  shoulder  of  Leif,  weeping 
tears  of  wonder  and  joy.  "Not  in  vain  has  been  the  vision,"  said 
she  ;  "here  shall  we  live,  love,  die — but  a  time  will  come  when 
all  traces  of  our  nation  will  be  lost.  Thou  must  build  a  tower, 
for  so  spake  the  dream,  and  centuries  hence  it  shall  be  our 
witness  that  upon  the  sand  of  this  shore  has  the  Norseman  left 
his  footprint." 

To  this  day  there  stands  the  "  Old  Round  Tower."  Leif  and 
Griidrida,  with  their  followers,  lived  but  a  few  brief  years  on  our 
shores.  Savage  and  untamed  was  the  race  who  dwelt  there,  and 
the  Norsemen,  with  bold  and  adventurous  daring,  perpetrated 
deeds  of  murder  and  bloodshed  which  met  with  like  retaliation. 
Bat  the  "  Old  Round  Tower"  still  stands,  the  only  relic  of  the 
time ;  and  when  the  winds  wail,  and  the  waves  beat,  it  is  said 
a  moan,  as  of  one  in  pain,  is  heard,  and  that  the  soul  of  Thorold, 
a  northern  Viking,  and  follower  of  Lief,  is  there,  raving  round 
the  walls  of  its  circular  prison,  having  been  condemned  to  ever- 
lasting unrest  for  embracing  Christianity,  and  abjuring  the 
worship  of  Thor  and  Freya. 

Thus  endeth  the  legend. 


The  cynics  insist  upon  it  that  all  the  world  is  selfish,  and  every 
son  of  Adam  occupied  only  with  himself.  How  absurd  is  this 
theory!  Just  observe  with  what  solicitude  and  concern  we  all 
watch  the  sins  and  faults  of  other  people  !  how  anxious  we  are 
to  secure  their  reform  !  what  pains  we  undertake  to  bring  them 
to  repentance  !  We  never  hear  a  sermon  that  we  do  not  gener- 
ously turn  it  over  to  an  erring  brother  ;  we  never  meet  a  wise 
axiom  that  we  do  not  mentally  apply  it  to  a  sinful  sister.  We 
go  about  lamenting  the  habits  and  sinful  weaknesses  of  our 
neighbors,  and  are  in  such  despair  because  of  the  sins  and  vices 
of  society,  that  nothing  consoles  us  but  the  balm  of  our  own 
virtues. 


A     MOTHER'S     LOVE 


BY    L.    F.   WELLS. 


"  You  can't  rule  me,  old  woman  !"  and  an  oath 
Came  harshly  grating  on  the  listless  ear, 
Rousing  the  mind  from  reverie,  the  while 
I  passed  a  mountain  camp.     Wond'ring,  I  turned, 
Thinking  to  see  some  bearded  mountaineer, 
Whom  years  of  rough  and  unrequited  toil 
Had  rendered  careless  of  his  mode  of  speech  : 
And  in  the  person  rudely  thus  addressed, 
Some  poor  unfortunate,  within  whose  ears 
The  vilest  blasphemy  makes  music  sweet. 
But  sixteen  years  had  passed  so  lightly  o'er 
The  form  of  him  on  whom  I  gazed,  that  more 
And  more  I  wondered  still,  that  one  so  young, 
So  highly  favored,  should  forget  himself 
In  language  which  the  careless  only  use. 
But  soon  my  wonder  was  to  horror  changed, 
When  told  by  passing  friend  that- she,  to  whom 
The  cruel  epithet  was  thus  applied, 
Was  his  own  Mother. 

Had  I  seen  his  form 
Brought  to  the  level  of  th'  wallowing  beast, 
Mine  should  have  been  the  hand  to  raise  him  up  ; 
For  while  we  pity  and  condemn  the  sot, 
None  but  the  poor  inebriate  can  know 
.How  strong,  how  galling  is  the  chain  which  drags 
Him  low,  and  lower  still,  within  the  depths 
Of  his  own  degradation.     Had  I  seen 
His  pilf'ring  hand  upon  his  neighbor's  gold, 
Beneath  the  folds  of  mercy's  mantle  still 
I  might  have  found  some  corner  broad  enough 
To  cover  crime  like  his.     For  youth  is  weak  ; 
And  want,  with  opportunity  combined, 
Proves  often  stronger  than  the  human  will. 
But  from  ingratitude  so  base,  so  vile, 
And  so  unnatural,  I  could  but  turn 
With  sick'niug  heart  away, 

That  young  man  yet 
Will  sore  repent  those  cruel  words.     When  age 
Has  shown  the  hollowness  of  friendship's  trust, 
And  one  by  one,  the  ties  of  love  he  thought 


84 


THE   HESPERIAN. 


So  closely  wound  around  his  heart,  are  snapt 

By  chilling  frosts  of  stern  adversity  ; 

Then,  all  too  late,  perchance,  will  he  regret 

His  wicked  thrusting  of  that  hand  aside 

Which  would  have  pointed  out  his  path  through  life, 

And  buoyed  him  up,  and  on,  though  man  forsook 

And  Heav'n  its  light;  withdrew.     A  mother  may 

And  sometime  hath,  perhaps,  refused  to  love, 

And  strove  to  bury  in  forgetfulness 

A  daughter  fall'n  ;  but  never  yet  a  son. 

From  infancy,  when  first  his  tot'ring  steps 

Are  bent  in  haste  to  catch  her  outstretch'd  hand, 

Until  he  finds  the  summit  of  his  hopes, 

Or  sinks  beneath  accumulating  care's, 

A  mother's  watchful,  tearful,  prayerful  eye 

Is  ever  on  his  course.     She  findR  in  him 

Virtues  and  beauties  others  overlook  ; 

And  screens  with  a  forgiving,  holy  love 

The  erring  words  and  many  grievous  faults 

Which  bar  his  entrance  to  all  other  hearts. 

And  sad  experience  proves1  that  no  regret 

Can  be  so  poignant,  as  the  memory 

Of  wrongs  to  those  who  loved  us,  and  are  gone. 

Alas  !  that  he  who  writes  should  feel  its  truth. 

For  he  has  only  learned  the  death  of  one — 

A  mother — who  has  loved  him  with  a  love 

Which  knew  no  variation,  and  no  shade 

Of  turning  knew.     A  love  which  wayward  youth, 

And  folly  more  mature,  could  not  affect : 

A  love  which  time,  and  absence,  ill  report, 

And  calumny's  foul  breath  could  never  change  :  * 

A  love  which  on  his  op'nmg  eyes  looked  clown 

Ere  he  could  name  the  form  on  which  they  gazed  : 

A  love  which  overcoming  time  and  space 

Went  out  with  him  through  all  the  walks  of  life, 

And  growing  stronger  with  increasing  years, 

Gushed  forth  at  length  from  her  departing  soul 

In  a  last  blessing  on  her  distant  boy. 

And  even  while  he  writes,  the  memory 

Of  but  a  few  unkindly  spoken  words 

In  anger  long  ago  addressed  to  her, 

Sit  brooding  darker  o'er  his  soul  to-day 

Than  all  the  other  sins  which  have  disgraced 

A  sinful  life's  career. 


Weaverville,  Cal.,  Feb.,  1862. 


THE  TESTIMONY  OF   MAN'S   SENTIMENT   TOUCHING 
THE  RANK  OF  WOMAN. 


BY   MRS.    E.    W.    FARNHAM. 


[Continued  from  page  27.] 

A  man  in  love,  acknowledges  in  the  woman  whom  he  loves,  the 
Mistress  of  his  future  happiness,  and  of  his  future  good,  so  far  as 
his  love  is  worthy  the  name,  and  its  object  is  a  true  and  grown 
woman.  The  word  Mistress  was,  until  very  recently,  the  one 
universally  used  in  addressing  or  designating  a  beloved  and 
honored  woman.  It  still  prevails  in  the  Drama,  where  the  truths 
of  passion  and  emotion  are  intended  to  be  most  strongly  and 
purely  expressed,  and  is  also  retained  by  many  popular  and 
standard  novel  writers.  That  it  is  used  in  the  meaner  sense  of 
expressing  a  degraded  character  and  a  vicious  relation,  does  not 
in  any  degree  detract  from  the  confession  (implied  in  its  adop- 
tion) of  preponderance  of  power  on  the  woman's  side  in  the  pure 
and  worthy  one,  since  no  woman,  however  lowly  or  humble, 
ever  addresses  or  names  the  man  she  loves  as  Master,  because  she 
loves  him.  A  woman  becomes  the  Mistress  of  a  man,  in  the  grave 
sense,  only  thro'  his  love  for  her,  but  whatever  her  love  for  him 
or  his  appreciation  and  love  of  it,  he  would  not  be  pleased  that 
she  should  acknowledge  him  her  Master.  Mastership  when  it  is 
asserted  or  confessed,  is  never  from  love  or  for  its  sake.  That 
state  of  the  relation,  if  it  ever  appear,  is  for  a  later  day — a  dim- 
mer and  less  divine  one — a  day  when  the  co-working  of  common, 
external,  and 'earthly  motives  makes  it  easy  to  apostatize  from 
the  divine  inner  truth  of  the  soul. 

We  delight  in  the  sense  of  a  man's  loyalty  to  a  woman, 
while  he  is  her  lover.  Now  loyalty  is  the  sentiment  of  the  heart 
toward  a  superior,  and  could  only  please  us  when  expressed  in 
harmony  with  our  perception  of  the  qualities  of  the  natures  giv- 
ing and  receiving  it.  It  would  offend  or  disgust  us  to  see  the 
higher  paying  loyalty  to  the  lower.  But  that  which  is  a  charac- 
terising trait  of  woman's  love — perhaps  the  trait  which  men  most 


86  THE     HESPERIAN. 


admire,  and  take  pride  in  finding  exhibited  towards  themselves, 
is  Devotion,  the  opposite  of  loyalty.  In  the  human  relation's 
devotion  is  exhibited  toward  an  object  who  is  either  less  happy 
and  fortunate,  or  intrinsically  less  exalted  and  worthy  than  the 
person  showing  it ;  and  its  greatness  and  depth  are  in  the  inverse 
proportion  of  these  circumstances  or  qualities  in  its  object. 

I  am  aware  that  this  definition  is  not  in  accordance  with  the 
lexicons,  but  I  do  not  think  the  authorities  have  treated  all  words 
exhaustively  as  to  the  meanings  which  mankind  employ  them  to 
express.  And  I  believe  the  common  heart  of  woman  and  man- 
kind will  consent  to  this  use  of  a  most  noble  word — the  more, 
that  there  is  no  other  in  use  among  the  people  which  so  well  ex- 
presses the  spiritual  phenomena  often  seen  and  experienced  by 
them  in  their  human  relations.  We  do  not  call  that  a  devoted 
love  which  makes  its  subject  altogether  and  only  happy.  The 
devotee  is  one  bound  by  a  vow — a  high  sense  of  duty — an  over- 
ruling obligation  to  pay  the  devotion,  the  care,  the  love,  what- 
ever be  the  pain  thereof; — the  greater  the  pain,  the  greater  the 
devotion. 

Thus,  a  noble,  loving  parent  exhibits  devotion  to  a  degraded, 
irreclaimable  child,  whose  persistent  depravity  has  destroyed  all 
hope  of  returning  love  and  compensatory  tenderness.  A  friend 
proves  his  or  her  devotion  in  faithful  and  uncalculating  adhe- 
rence to  one  once  beloved,  who  has  degenerated,  or  fallen  into  a 
condition  of  disgrace.  A  wife  shows  her  devotion  to  an  oppress- 
ive, cruel,  brutal,  drunken  or  unfortunate  and  spirit-broken  hus- 
band— a  tender  husband  to  a  careless,  selfish,  unloving  or  profli- 
gate wife,  though  human  experience  does  not  so  often  furnish 
man  opportunities  for  illustrating  his  nobleness  in  this  way  as 
woman. 

There  are  other  ways  in  which  this  capacity  of  the  nature 
proves  itself,  as  where  one  loves  another,  and  the  affection 
maintains  itself  persistently  against  coldness,  neglect,  and  even 
scorn  ;  or,  where  we  devote  ourselves  to  humanity  through  cer- 
tain labors  and  causes  which  are  identical  with  its  growth  and 
good.  In  the  former  case,  there  will  be  somewhat  that  is 
lower,  in  the  nature,  whether  masculine  or  feminine,  which  per- 


THE    BANK    OF   WOMAN.  87 

mits  the  devotion  to  be  paid,  in  that,  if  it  cannot  return  love  for 
love,  it  does  not  tenderly  and  carefully,  and  with  such  wisdom 
and  firmness  as  it  may,  attempt  to  heal  the  wound  of  its  giving, 
to  build  up  strength  on  another  side  and  lead  the  suffering  life 
out  into  other  directions,  whereby  the  unprofitable  sentiment  may 
be  supplanted.  In  the  latter  it  is  easy  to  see  that  those  only  can 
devote  themselves  to  humanity  who  are,  at  the  lowest,  so  far 
above  its  level,  that  they  look  down  on  some  real  or  imaginary 
want  of  it,  which  they  hope  to  supply — see,  in  short,  that  it  needs 
help  from  them. 

Loyalty  is  the  tribute  of  the  lower  to  the  higher  ;  it  flows  to- 
ward what  it  reverences,  and  at  the  same  time  sustains,  by  ser- 
vice which  it  recognizes  as  dutifully,  naturally  paid,  because  the 
servitor  is  the  inferior  of  the  served.  Subjects  are  loyal  to  a 
monarch,  and  joyfully  submit  to  hardship  and  defilement  of  their 
persons  in  menial  labors  (when  necessary)  for  him,  which  they 
would  feel  grief  and  shame  in  seeing  him  perform  for  himself. 
Soldiers  suffer  and  die  for  him,  but  are  unwilling  that  he  should 
descend  to  the  common  service  of  the  field.  Their  loyalty  is 
wounded  if  he  expose  himself  to  the  inferior  dangers  or  vulgar 
toils  which  they  feel  to  be  unworthy  of  his  exalted  relation  to 
them. 

Thus,  laying  clown  all  externals,  it  is  clear  that  loyalty  is  com- 
manded by  the  qualities  of  a  nature  or  position  superior  to  those 
which  render  it,  while  it  is  equally  clear  that  devotion  proceeds 
freely  out  from  qualities  which  recognize  in  its  object  an  inferior, 
in  so  far,  at  least,  as  there  is  need  of  service  of  a  quality  which  it 
cannot  render  itself.  Thus  it  is  that  political  loyalty  becomes  de- 
votion whenever  the  person  or  fortunes  of  its  object  become  so 
degenerate  that  the  original  relation  between  giver  and  receiver 
is  reversed. 

Now  I  know  that  in  the  established  relations  between 
woman  and  man,  there  often  arrives  a  time  when  the  order  here 
indicated  as  natural  seems,  and  among  superficial,  common-place 
people,  actually  comes  to  be  so  far  reversed  that  we  hear  the 
loyalty  of  the  wife  spoken  of,  though  very  rarely  the  devotion, 
in  any  high,  earnest  sense,  of  the  husband.  It  is  not  a  reversal 
to  each  party,  but  only  to  the  woman,  from  whom  both  loyalty 
and  devotion  are  expected,  after  marriage  has  put  her  in  man's 


S8  THE     HESPERIAN. 


possession,  either  as  a  chattel  or  a  subject.  We  shall  better  esti- 
mate the  justness  of  the  position  thus  imposed  on  her,  if  we  re- 
member the  ''fact  that  our  present  system  of  marriage,  whatever 
its  merits  or  defects,  is  purely  of  man's  contrivance,  and  we  shall 
see  how  much  more  respect  is  due  to  the  authority  of  the  natural 
sentiments  shown  by  each  sex  while  in  a  state  of  freedom  previ- 
ous to  it,  than  to  the  expression  or  usage  of  either,  after  they  have 
entered  into  this  relation — of  which  the  elements  only — all  its 
features,  of  authority  on  one  side  and  submission  on  the  other,  of 
transientness  and  durability,  being  defined  by  laws  of  purely 
masculine  origin.* 

If  it  be  urged  that  Jhe  sentiment  shown  in  the  above  extract 
and  statements  is  that  of  men  in  love,  and  therefore  not  to  be 
trusted  in  proof  of  nature,  or  of  mankind,  I  reply  that  no  senti- 
ment is  more  reliable  for  the  expression  of  primal  truths,  or  the 
indication  of  real  qualities  in  the  life  where  they  flow,  than  that 
of  those  rare  and  holy  experiences — I  will  not  say  in  noble,  but 
in  average  men  and  women. 

According  to  their  capacity  or  incapacity  to  aspire  or  hope  for 
a  better  life  than  they  have  before  lived,  men  uniformly  look  to 
the  woman  they  love,  to  aid  them  in  realizing  it.f     They  expect 

*  In  answer  to  the  statement  which  may  be  set  against  this,  that  marriage 
is  of  Divine  origin,  a  sacrament,  and  therefore  indissoluble,  or  for  the  same 
reason  anything  else,  it  is  only  necessary  to  point  to  late  facts  in  the  social 
and  civil  development  of  the  States  and  Nations  which  the  world  acknowledges 
as  its  leaders.  In  many  of  these,  the  movements  of  the  last  quarter  of  a 
century,  but  especially  those  of  the  past  ten  years,  make  aline  of  progress  in 
the  opposite  direction.  I  offer  neither  comment  nor  opinion  here  on  these  facts, 
it  being  out  of  the  question  to  do  so  much  as  lift  my  eyes,  at  this  stage  of  my 
argument  for  woman,  to  the  vast  and  chaotic  field  toward  which  they  point. 
It  is  unquestionable,  however,  and  I  suggest  no  new  theory  in  stating  it,  that 
the  necessity  of  remodeling  or  creating  divorce  laws  is  growing  more  urgent 
in  all  the  Protestant  and  progressive  governments,  and  that  whenever  it  is 
yielded  to,  the  movement  is  uniformly  toward  granting  liberation  from  the 
bonds  [a  cord,  a  chain,  a  rope — see  Webster]  of  ill-assorted  or  unhappy 
marriage. 

f  To  this  statement,  with  the  limitations  here  given,  the  single  exception 
which  now  occurs  to  me,  is  that  of  highly  intellectual  men — men  who  live  in 
the  intellect  alone,  or  chiefly;  or,  worse  still,  in  the  intellect  and  passions. 
•Of  this  order  are  many  eminent  Statesmen,  Diplomatists,  Legislators,  Jurists, 


THE   RANK   OP   WOMAN.  89 

help  from  her.  They  plan  the  surrender  of  some  indulgences 
which  their  own  self-respect  has  permitted,  but  which  their  re- 
spect for  her  greater  purity  and  refinement,  makes  them  hesitate 
or  feel  ashamed  of  continuing ;  and  they  tell  her  of  their  good 
purposes,  if  taste  or  delicacy  do  not  forbid,  expecting  to  be  smiled 
upon  like  a  good  child — perhaps  praised  a  little  for  it :  certainly 
thanked.  If  they  feel  weak  or  weary  in  endeavoring  to  keep 
themselves  always  to  the  right  against  the  temptations  that  beset 
them,  the}r  look  to  woman's  higher  and  purer  strength  as  a  rest, 
which  they  shall  reach  and  be  blessed  in,  by  and  by.  She  will 
decide  when  he  is  at  a  loss,  and  having  pointed  the  way,  will 
always  be  in  it,  an  attraction  to  draw  him  thither.  He  always 
feels  supported  in  some  new  faithfulness  to  convictions  he  has  be- 
fore neglected  (for  which  he  is  perhaps  laughed  at  by  those  un- 
used to  such  behavior  in  him),  by  the  thought  of  her,  and  her 
warm  sympathy  and  approval. 

"  The  whole,  low  world  of  pleasure  and  sense  in  which  I  have 
lived,"  said  a  strong  man  once  to  a  woman  whom  he  worshipped, 
"  seems  at  moments  when  I  am  near  you,  or  recall  you  vividly, 
to  turn  to  dust  and  ashes  beneath  my  feet.  God  is  my  witness, 
that  at  such  times,  no  other  feeling  is  possible  toward  it  but  one 
of  unmixed  scorn  and  loathing ;  and  all  because  of  you,  and  the 
thought  of  you :  which  is  sufficient  to  suggest  and  supply  me  with 
something  so  much  nobler."  Alas  !  that  such  influences  should 
so  often  wither  and  vanish  away  before  they  accomplish  their 
divine  work  of  redemption  ! 

[To  be  continued.] 


Advocates,  Physicians,  Clergymen,  Men  of  Science  and  of  Letters;  but  very 
few  Artists,  Discoverers,  or  illustrious  Inventors ;  these  latter  callings  draw- 
ing men  more  into  communion  with  primary  truth,  than  with  the  secondary 
truths,  falsities  or  errors  with  which  the  former  familiarize  their  followers  ; 
and  being,  therefore,  more  favorable  to  the  preservation  of  natural  sentiment 
in  the  character.  That  men  of  distinguished,  manlike  intellect  have  been 
very  apt  to  marry  silly  and  pretty,  or  cold  and  stately,  or  managing  and  bril- 
liant wives,  is  not  less  notorious  than  that  they  have  been  apt  to  leave  be- 
hind them  children  who  are  content  to  reflect  without  adding  to  the  lustre 
of  the  name  they  bear. 


By  the  arrival  of  Mme.  Demorest's  Quarterly  Eeport,  we  are  enabled  to  lay 
before  our  readers  the  following  comprehensive  statement  in  regard  to  the 
prevailing  styles  of  dress  for  the  ensuing  Season  : 

SPRING    AIVU     SUMMER    STILES. 

The  Spring  styles  exhibit,  therefore,  little  less  care  and  taste  in  prepara- 
tion, than  any  of  those  which  have  preceded  them.  The  mass  of  materials 
may  be  less  costly,  but  the  colors  are  even  more  varied,  delicate,  and  charm- 
ing; and  the  taste,  and  coquettish  beauty  of  arrangement,  fully  make  up  for 
the  absence  of  more  luxurious  qualities. 

"We  rejoice  to  see  that  gray,  as  a  "  uniformity,"  is  less  in  vogue  than  for 
the  past  two  seasons.  At  first,  it  was  considered  both  economical  and  lady- 
like ;  but  the  furore  that  was  created  for  this  class  of  dress-goods  threw  an 
infinite  amount  of  trash,  in  the  way  of  gray  fabrics,  upon  the  market,  not 
worth  the  paper  in  which  they  were  carried  home,  and  which  frequently,  after 
having  been  expensively  made  up,  would  be  destroyed  by  exposure  to  the  first 
shower  of  rain.  Lady  readers  are,  of  course,  aware  that  it  is  the  mixture  of 
black  and  white  that  constitutes  the  ordinary  gray,  and  they  have  only  to  re- 
member that,  if  the  black  is  cotton,  the  material  is  worthless,  so  far  as  service 
is  concerned,  never  to  be  caught  by  any  of  the  tricks  to  which  the  most  honest 
of  the  trade  will  resort. 

TRIMMINGS. 

Trimmings  for  dresses  are  used  quite  profusely. .  Buttons,  frillings,  bows, 
puffs,  and  double  ruchings  being  the  favorite  style  of  decoration.  Very 
pretty  trimmings  are  very  often  made  of  the  material,  and  in  a  comparative- 
ly inexpensive  manner.  For  example,  plain  taffeta  silks  are  beautifully 
trimmed  with  box-quillings,  edged  with  narrow  black  lace  and  bows,  with 
ends  edged  with  lace. 

SLEEVES. 

The  coat  sleeves  have  nearly  all  assumed  a  modified  "leg  of  mutton" 
shape,  which  seems  to  be  received  with  favor,  and  certainly  possesses  a  quaint- 
ness  which  is  novel,  and  not  unbecoming.  A  very  pretty  design  is  straight  at 
the  wrist,  and  has  a  sort  of  medallion  cuff,  which  extends  upon  the  upper  or 
full  part  of  the  sleeve.  This  upper  part  forms  an  immense  puff,  and  is  laid 
in  three  treble  box-plaits  at  the  top.     [See  full-sized  Paper  Pattern.] 

Another  is  loose  at  the  wrist,  and  full  on  the  upper  side,  where  a  broad 
frill  is  festooned  at  intervals  with  flat  bows.  The  frill  extends  round  the 
wrist,  but  is  rounded  on  the  upper  side,  where  the  ends  meet,  in  order  to  pre- 
serve the  appearance  of  festoons.  It  is  an  excellent  style  in  which  to  make 
up  the  shepherd's-wool-checks,  and  easily  and  handsomely  trimmed  with  a 
little  binding  of  black  silk,  and  black  silk  bows. 

These  shepherd's-wool-checks,  by  the  way,  are  almost  the  only  goods  that 
are  reliable  in  black  and  white,  they  being  all  wool.     They  are  in  demand 


SUMMARY    OF    FASHION. 


91 


among  ladies  of  the  most  distinguished  taste,  for  suits,  consisting  of  dress  and 
short  English  paletot,  or  "  sack,"  as  it  is  now  generally  called  ;  a  very  appro- 
priate dress  for  Spring  wear,  and  can  be  afterwards  worn  as  a  Summer  trav- 
eling dress. 

Flowing  sleeves  are  never  wholly  unfashionable.  There  are  always  people 
who  prefer  them  to  all  others,  and,  indeed,  they  do  possess  a  grace  of  style, 
and  a  facility  for  display,  united  to  a  matronly  and  dignified  appearance,  un- 
like all  others.  A  late  and  favorite  design  is  called  the  "  Violetta."  It  is 
not  very  wide,  and  has  a  cap,  laid  in  box-plaits,  on  the  top,  and  forming  a 
square  bouillon  puff,  terminating  in  a  short  square,  open  sleeve,  which  falls 
over  the  under  one.  The  only  objection  to  this  sleeve  is  the  amount  of  mate- 
rial which  it  would  take,  an  item  worth  consideration  now,  provided  it  were 
costly. 

CLOAKS    AND     MAHfTILlAS. 

The  immense  cloaks  and  mantles  which  have  enveloped  the  entire  person, 
so  as  to  hide  the  dress,  promise  to  give  place  to  the  English  paletot,  or  short 
sack,  ("  Zou-zou  ")  which  has  recently  been  introduced,  and  to  variations  from 
this  style,  adapted  to  different  figures,  but  all  short  and  jaunty,  the  antipodes 
of  the  long,  dark,  mysterious  wraps,  wnich  formed  a  disguise  as  effectual  as 
the  robes  of  a  Sister  of  Charity. 

A  new  French  mantilla  is  also  very  handsome  and  graceful.  It  is  full  on 
the  shoulder  and  at  the  back,  and  is  set  into  a  pointed  yoke  with  large  box- 
plaits. 

BONNETS. 

For  ordinary  walking  bonnets,  fine  white  split  straw,  bound  and  trimmed 
with  green,  or  green  and  black,  are  new,  and  look  very  fresh,  spirited  and  be- 
coming for  the  season.  Very  stylish  straws  are  simply,  yet  elegantly,  deco- 
rated with  velvet,  with  straw  ornaments.  Straw  trimmings  have  now  been 
brought  to  such  perfection  as  to  be  extremely  beautiful. 

Silk  hats,  both  drawn  and  plain,  are  always  in  vogue  to  some  extent,  par- 
ticularly at  this  season ;  but,  to  our  taste,  there  are  no  bonnets  so  pretty  for 
Spring  wear  as  straw. 

THE    LATEST    STYLE    OF    SKOtTS. 

Crinoline  is  narrow  at  the  top,  but  extends  out  into  an  amplitude  as  great 
as  ever  at  the  base,  in  order  to  support  the  skirts  of  the  dresses,  which  must 
not  be  less  than  five  yards  round. 

These  graceful,  durable,  and  economical  skirts  possess  and  combine  every 
desirable  quality,  in  connection  with  a  very  superior  quality  of  steel  of  a  per- 
manent elasticity.  The  standards  are  very  numerous,  and  being  passed 
through  the  covering,  prevents  the  possibility  of  their  slipping  on  the  springs, 
or  getting  out  of  order.  The  ladies  have  universally  awarded  their  unquali- 
fied approbation  and  conceded  their  pre-eminent  superiority  over  all  others. 
They  need  only  to  be  examined  to  be  fully  appreciated. 

On  sale  at  Branch  of  Mine.  Demorest's  Fashion  Emporium,  111  Montgom- 
ery street,  where  also  may  be  obtained  any  and  every  desirable  Pattern  for 
Ladies  and  Children's  Dress;  and  also  many  new  articles  of  ladies  wear, 
such  as  light  and  durable  Spiral  Pads,  Skirt  Suspenders,  new  style  Hooks 
and  Eyes,  etc.,  etc.  This  department  is  under  the  superintendence  of  the 
accomplished  and  accommodating  Mine.  Langraff,  whose  artistic  taste  in 
matters  pertaining  to  ladies'  dress,  is  too  well  known  to  require  comment. 


diliWi*  ®.rtU\ 


After  the  severity  of  the  winter  just  passed,  which  has  been  so  disastrous  to 
many  of  the  enterprises  of  our  young  State,  it  may  be  that  many  of  the 
friends  of  the  Hesperian  would  like  to  know  what  of  its  prospects  ?  and  as 
we  cannot  convey  to  them  an  understanding  of  the  appreciation  which  is 
everywhere  felt  for  the  Magazine,  and  the  readiness  everywhere  manifested 
for  its  support,  better  than  by  giving  at  length  a  letter  recently  received  from 
our  friend  and  co-worker,  Miss  A.  S.  Breck,  we  shall  venture  to  do  so. 
The  letter,  it  will  be  perceived,  is  written  from  Vallejo — quite  a  small  town, 
and  yet,  in  less  than  a  week,  it  yielded  to  Miss  B.'s  efforts  over  seventy  new 
names  to  our  subscription  list,  all  of  which  were  accompanied  by  the  nionvy. 
Surely,  this  speaks  well  for  the  intelligence  of  that  community  ;  and  yet  it  is 
only  a  prophecy  of  what  people  and  communities,  in  various  parts  of  the 
State,  are  ready  and  willing  to  do,  as  soon  as  opportunity  offers,  which  will  be 
immediately,  as  Miss  Breck  is  now  absent,  and  intends  to  make  the  tour  of 
the  entire  State,  the  coming  season — when  we  hope  to  receive  many  substan- 
tial evidences  of  the  appreciation  bestowed  upon  this  the  only  representative 
of  periodical  literature  in  this  State.  And  in  this  connection  we  would  men- 
tion, that  every  kindness  extended  to  Miss  Breck,  either  by  the  Brothers  of 
the  Press,  or  others,  will  meet  with  grateful  appreciation  as  done  unto  ourself. 
But  here  is  the  letter.  Judge  you  whether  the  State  of  California  can  sup- 
port one  literary  Magazine,  or  not : 

"Vallejo,  April  21st,  1862. 

"  My  Dear  Mrs.  Day: — 1  promised,  when  I  left  San  Francisco,  to  send 
you,  from  time  to  time,  'jottings  by  the  way  ;'  in  other  words,  to  give  you 
my  thoughts  and  impressions  as  I  proceeded  on  my  journey. 

"  I  arrived  at  this  place  on  the  9th,  and  was  kindly  received  by  the  Hon. 
C.  B.  Denio  and  his  good  lady.  Mrs.  Denio  was  about  to  make  a  visit  to  the 
city,  and  I  volunteered  to  take  charge  of  the  little  ones  (four  in  number),  and 
also  to  attend  to  the  creature  comforts  of  her  liege  lord,  and  see  that  he  had 
his  meals  at  the  proper  hours.  On  his  part  it  was  stipulated  that  he  should 
introduce  me  to  his  frieuds  on  the  Navy  Yard,  and  use  his  influence  to  assist 
me  in  my  efforts  to  secure  subscribers  for  the  Hesperian.  Thus,  you  see,  I 
can  attend  to  the  domestic  as  well  as  the  literary  wants  of  man. 

"  I  must  confess  that,  for  a  few  days,  I  had  fearful  misgivings  as  to  my  suc- 
cess. In  the  first  place,  the  times  are  hard,  and  the  men  employed  on  the 
Yard  are  dunned  almost  every  pay-day,  for  some  object,  and  to  add  to  my 
trouble  for  two  or  three  days  after  my  arrival,  when  I  would  get  ready  to  go 
to  the  Yard,  it  would  rain,  until  Tuesday  morning  last,  when  the  sun  smiled 
upon  us  so  brightly,  that  I  summoned  courage  and  accompanied  Mr.  Denio 
to  the  Navy  Yard ;  and  I  am  happy  to  say  that,  although  I  had  fixed   many 


editor's  table.  93 


things  that  I  .thought  would  be  pretty  to  say  to  thej  men,  by  way  of  in- 
ducements to  sign  for  our  magazine,  Mr.  Denio  himself  said  so  much  prettier 
things,  that  I  really  Tiad  nothing  to  do,  but  to  stand  and  take  the  names  of  the 
men  and  the  money,  which  seemed  to  be  paid  with  a  cheerfulness  that  did 
honor  to  their  heads  as  well  as  their  hearts.  I  received  the  same  kind  atten- 
tion from  Mr.  Powell,  the  master  joiner,  Major  Root,  the  dock-master,  Mr. 
Grimes,  the  master  blacksmith,  Mr.  Barbour,  the  acting  master  caulker,  and 
Mr.  Baily,  the  master  laborer. 

"  There  are  a  large  number  of  men  at  present  employed  on  the  yard  ; 
many  of  them  are  engaged  in  refitting  the  U.  S.  sloops-of-war  Wyoming  and 
Lancaster,  which  at  present  are  at  the  yard — the  former,  I  believet  to  be  sent 
to  China,  and  the  latter  to  return  to  Panama,  there  to  watch  over  the  inter- 
ests of  the  Government  and  its  people,  as  she  has  for  the  last  three  years. 

'•  There  are  some  permanent,  and,  I  may  add,  extensive  improvements 
going  on  upon  the  Yard.  Among  them,  and  perhaps  the  greatest,  is  a  foun- 
dry and  machine  shop,  where  is  to  be  cast  the  death-dealing  cannon  ;  those 
livge  anchors,  too,  that  hold  our  war-ships  to  their  moorings,  are  to  be  made 
here,  instead  of  being  brought  from  the  States  ;  here,  too,  in  due  time,  is  to 
be  put  together  that  greatest  of  modern  workers — the  steam  engine — a  labor- 
er tuat  never  tires,  but  with  nerves  of  steel  and  breath  of  fire,  is  to  bear  along 
those  iron-clad  steamers  that  are  to  be  our  country's  defences  against  the 
machinations  of  old  England,  and  what  some  miscall  the  other  Great  Powers 
of  the  world.  Our  own  country  is  the  greatest  Power  the  world  has  ever  yet 
seen,  and  the  reason  is  obvious — the  people  are  the  governers,  and  thinking 
ones,  too. 

"In  passing  through  the  several  departments,  I  could  but  note  one  charac- 
teristic of  the  men  employed  upon  the  yard.  They  all  seemed  to  be  intelli- 
gent and  thinking  men,  not  mere  machines  that  were  to  be  wound  up  and  set 
agoing.  It  is  true,  their  faces  were  sunburnt  and  their  hand  showed  labor — 
unlike  some  creatures  that  we  meet  daily,  who,  instead  of  being  termed  men, 
should,  perhaps,  be  called  a  pair  of  stuffed  pantaloons.  Each  of  them  had  a 
kind  word  for  me,  and  I  am  caudid  to  say  that,  although  I  have  never  had  the 
most  exalted  opinion  of  the  sterner  sex,  and  as  a  conssquence  had  almost 
made  up  my  mind  never  to  marry,  but  try  and  '  paddle  my  own  canoe,'  my 
visit  to  the  Navy  Yard  has  had  a  tendency  to  do  away  with  much  of  the 
prejudice  of  my  youth.  But,  don't  be  alarmed,  I  have  no  serious  intentions 
yet,  and  have  resolved  to  first  visit  the  mountains  and  see  the  miners  ;  but  I 
will  say  this  :  if  I  ever  do  make  up  my  mind  to  take  that  dreadful  step, 
which,  according  to  the  laws  of  our  land,  not  only  blots  out  my  persoual  iden- 
tity, but  my  very  name,  I  believe  it  will  be  with  one  of  those  men  who  are 
not  ashamed  to  work  :  these  are  the  men  of  whom  it  may  be  said,  the  world 
is  better  because  they  have  lived.  They  are,  after  all,  the  men  who  move 
the  world  ;  these,  and  men  like  them,  are  they  who  are  fighting  the  battles  of 
our  country  to-day — men  who  think  as  well  as  work.  It  is  such  who  climb 
up  the  steeps  at  Fort  Donelson,  and  stand  firm  before  the   hordes  of  traitors 


94  THE     HESPERIAN. 


at  Pittsburg  Landing,  and  finally  send  them  back  in  confusion  to  their  hiding 
places  at  Corinth.  God  bless  the  working-men  of  our  country  !  If  the  Ro- 
man matron,  when  asked  for  her.jewels,  could  point  to  her  children,  and  say, 
'  These  are  my  jewels,'  so  our  country,  when  asked  for  the  evidence  of  her 
greatness  among  the  nations  of  the  earth,  may  point  with  pride  to  her  labor- 
ing men,  and  say,  '  Here  it  is — this  is  our  bulwark.'  But  I  fear  you  will  say 
I  have  fallen  in  love  !  Well,  that  is  so  !  but  my  love  is  entirely  too  general 
to  be  dangerous.     Notice,  I  say  men,  not  man. 

The  foundry  of  which  I  spoke,  is  to  be  ready  for  business  the  present  sea- 
son, much  of  the  machinery  having  already  been  shipped  from  the  Atlantic 
States.  Mr.  Denio  has  just  completed  a  large  chimney  connected  with  the 
foundry,  and  not  to  mention  it  would,  perhaps,  be  unpardonable,  as  it  is  gen- 
erally believed  here  that  the  said  chimney  is  his  weakness,  having  laid  out  all 
his  skill  as  a  mechanic,  intending  it,  I  suppose,  as  a  monument  of  his  skill  as 
a  bricklayer  ;  and  although  I  do  not  know  what  kind  of  a  hand  I  would  make 
in  describing  and  setting  forth  the  beauties  of  a  piece  of  masonry,  or  what 
my  opinion  is  worth  to  Mr.  D.,  still  I  will  say  that  I  think  it  one  of  the  finest 
things  of  the  kind  I  have  ever  seen.  It  is  one  hundred  and  thirty-nine  feet 
high,  and  so  constructed  that  you  can  enter  the  N.  W.  corner,  through  a 
small  door,  and  by  means  of  a  firm  iron  ladder,  ascend  to  the  top.  I  was  in- 
vited to  go  up,  but  fearing  my  hoops  would  be  somewhat  in  the  way,  I  de- 
clined. 

"  Although  my  letter  is  already  too  long,  still  I  cannot  think  of  bringing 
it  to  a  close  without  mentioning  some  of  the  officers  to  whom  I  was  intro- 
duced, and  the  kind  words  of  encouragement  they  were  pleased  to  bestow 
upon  me  and  my  enterprise.  Oh,  why  cannot  men  who  hold  positions  always 
thus  speak  ?  A  kind  word  costs  nothing,  and  may  send  many  a  fainting 
heart  on  its  way  rejoicing.  I  was  introduced  to  Purser  Murray,  who  not  only 
subscribed  for  the  Magazine,  but  also  spoke  so  kindly  to  me  that  I  was  more 
than  half  inclined  never  again  to  question  that  the  men  ought  to  be  called 
the  '  Lords  of  Creation.'  Purser  Murray  is  what  may  be  truly  called  a  real 
'  old  Irish  gentleman.'  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  old,  for  although  upon 
the  shady  side  of  sixty,  he  is  one  of  those  men  who  will  never  grow  old.  I 
also  got  acquainted  with  Dr.  Bishop,  the  lately-appointed  surgeon  upon  the 
Yard,  and  I  will  only  say,  that  if  he  is  only  half  as  successful  in  setting 
broken  limbs  and  building  up  the  human  system  that's  out  of  tune,  as  he  is 
in  prescribing  kind  words  to  keep  people  from  getting  sick,  Mare  Island,  or 
the  people  upon  it,  may  feel  thankful  to  '  Honest  old  Abe,'  for  sending  to 
this  coast  Dr.  Bishop.  Mr.  Brown,  the  civil  engineer  of  the  Yard,  was 
pleased  to  extend  to  me  kind  words  of  cheer.  He  is  one  who  never  tires 
doing  good,  but  is  always  ready  to  battle  for  the  right. 

"I  did  not  meet  Capt.  Gardener,  the  Commandant  of  the  Yard,  although 
I  called  at  his  office  two  or  three  times,  and  was  almost  tempted  to  think  that 
he  purposely  avoided  me,  or,  in  other  words,  had  agreed  not  to  be  at  home  ; 
but,  of  course,  the  Captain's  known  liberality,  and  I  may  add  gallantry,  for- 


editor's  table.  95 


bids  such  a  conclusion,  and  when  I  again  visit  Vallejo,  I  shall  make  it  a  point 
to  call  until  I  do  find  him  at  home,  and  obtain  his  name  to  the  list  of  sub- 
scribers to  the  Hesperian. 

"  I  ought  to  mention  others,  but  time  will  prevent.  I  have  as  yet  said 
nothing  about  Vallejo.  It  is  a  pleasant  place  of  one  thousand  inhabitants, 
mostly  dependant  on  the  Navy  Yard,  I  should  think,  for  its  patronage. 
There  are  three  hotels  :  the  Washington  House,  kept  by  Mr.  Conley ;  the 
Union  Hotel,  by  Mr.  McCudin  ;  and  the  American  House,  by  Mr.  Seeholts — 
all  these  are  desirable  places,  for  persons  visiting  the  Navy  Yard,  to  stop  at. 
There  the  wants  and  comforts  of  the  weary  traveler  are  well  attended  to. 
Of  the  pleasant  homes  of  Vallejo  I  will  say  but  little,  as  I  have  not  time  to 
do  them  justice;  but  I  am  convinced  ot  one  thing,  that  happiness  does  not 
always  come  of  luxurious  living,  for  I  find  more  genuine  contentment,  more 
pure  love  and  friendship,  in  the  houses  of  these  honest  mechanics,  than  I  ever 
did  in  what  the  world  calls  the  higher  walks  of  life  ;  and  if  I  live  to  be  an  old 
gray-haired  woman,  I  shall  bless  the  noble-hearted  people  of  Vallejo,  who 
gave  me  such  hearty  welcome.  I  will  speak  further  upon  my  ideas  of  a  home 
at  some  future  time. 

"  I  have  obtained  over  seventy  subscribers  to  the  Magazine,  in  this  place 
and  on  the  Island,  and  have  received  from  many  of  those  noble  fellows  a 
hearty  '  God  bless  you,'  with  a  wish  for  the  success  of  the  enterprise. 

"  Truly  yours,  Angie  S.  Breck:." 


A  letter  more  recently  received  from  another  source,  would  be  calculated 
to  awaken  fears  that  we  might  be  deprived  of  the  services  of  our  friend,  Miss 
Breck,  did  we  not  so  well  know  her  strength  of  purpose  and  her  devotion  to 
the  cause  which  she  has  espoused.  This  letter  we,  also,  take  the  liberty  of 
laying  before  our  readers,  at  the  same  time  assuring  our  friend  Jones  that  it 
would  afford  us  the  greatest  pleasure  to  confer  any  favor  upon  him  which  we 
could  consistently  with  our  own  interests.  But,  for  obvious  reasons,  we  must 
most  respectfully  decline  speaking  that  "  timely  word." 

Mare  Island, 

"  Dear  Editress  : — I  am  not  accustomed  to  write  for  any  periodical  in 
the  State.  You,  in  consequence,  no  doubt,  will  think  strange  that  at  this 
time  I  should  be  induced  to  attempt  it.  But,  like  other  people,  I,  too,  am 
governed  by  surrounding  influences,  which  act  as  promptings  to  evil  as  well  as 
noble  deeds.  The  last  of  which  influences  I  became  seriously  affected  by, 
were  the  circumstances  in  connection  with  the  introduction  to  your  Hespe- 
rian Magazine,  which  I  find  to  be  a  neat  and  well  ordered  collection  of  lit- 
erary matter,  which  was  placed  in  my  hands  by  its  interesting  solicitor. 

"  I  have  now  arrived  at  a  point  where  it  becomes  necessary  for  me  to 
acknowledge  my  weakness,  notwithstanding  my  delicacy  in  its  exposure,  but 
deem  it  sufficient  for  me  to  say  that  I  became  mighty  quick  a  subscriber. 
After  listening  to  her  remarks  as  to  the  needful-  utility  of  this  book,  and  the 
good  influences  she  desired  to  impress  upon  the  minds  of  the  people,  and 
especially  the   young  men   of   California — well,   then,   dear  Editress,  I  just 


96  THE   HESPERIAN. 


caved  !  And  when  I  had  come  sufficiently  to  my  senses  to  again  be  led  on 
with  the  importance  of  this  literary  mission,  I  really  plunged  soul  and  heart 
in  the  cause.  I  introduced  my  friends,  and  by  some  mysterious  influence, 
which  I  would  rather  have  you  imagine  than  for  me  to  attempt  to  describe, 
they  momently  seemed  impressed  with  the  great  importance  of  advancing  its 
interests,  the  proof  of  which  was  demonstrated  by  the  forking  over  of  the 
four  dollars  to  the  witch  of  solicitors.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  believe  she 
was  half  as  much  gratified  by  her  success  as  your  interested  friend  and  sub- 
scriber. Now,  Mrs,  Editress,  you  might  do  me  a  great  favor  by  speaking  a 
timely  word.  Please  do  ;  she,  no  doubt,  will  know  from  the  circumstances 
who  I  am.  Should  you  not  find  her  at  all  susceptible,  I  would  ask,  for  the 
sake  of  one  who  will  never  fail  to  be  a  subscriber,  do  not  send  her  this  way 
again.  Jones." 

Mr.  James  V.  Mansfield. — We  cannot  refrain  from  noting  the  advent  to 
our  city  of  this  world-noted  individual,  whose  powers  in  what  is  called  Test 
Mediumship  are  so  wonderful  as  to  astonish  all  who  call  upon  him.  We  be- 
lieve these  singular  phenomena  should  be  investigated,  and,  if  possible,  ex- 
plained, by  the  savans  of  the  age.  If  they  do  it  not,  then  the  common  peo- 
ple must  take  hold  of  it,  and  decide  whether  it  be  of  God  or  not. 

Mr.  Mansfield  is  located  for  the  present  at  the  Euss  House,  in  this  city. 
His  kind  and  gentlemanly  deportment,  his  willingness  to  favor  rigid  and  cau- 
did  investigation,  should  at  once  be  taken  advantage  of  by  all  who  feel  any 
interest  in  this  new  science,  or  any  desire  to  communicate  with  the  loved  de- 
parted ones. 


FULL-SIZED     PAPER    PATTERN. 

We  send  this  month  an  entirely  new  Sleeve  Pattern,  alike  novel,  graceful 
and  Comfortable.  It  is  composed  of  two  pieces — the  sleeve  and  cuff.  Lay 
three  box- plaits  in  the  top  of  the  sleeve,  fold  the  pattern  together,  and  sew 
from  the  wrist,  which  is  plain  and  tight,  up  to  the  elbow.  Then  gather  the* 
fullness  of  the  upper  part  of  the  sleeve  in  at  the  elbow,  and  put  on  the  cuff. 
This  sleeve  is  exceedingly  pretty,  trimmed  with  lace  and  buttons. 


SPECIAL    NOTICE. 


We  have  transferred  our  Branch  of  Mme.  Demorest's  Pattern  Emporium, 
and  all  the  business — Cloak-making,  Patterns,  Hoop  Skirts,  etc.,  etc. — con- 
nected therewith,  to  Messrs.  S.  0.  Brigham  and  Henry  Polley,  who  will 
conduct  the  business  in  all  its  branches,  at  the  Old  Stand,  No.  Ill  Mont- 
gomery street. 

The  Ladies'  Department  is  under  the  special  superintendence  of  Mine. 
Langraff,  whose  artistic  taste  and  affable  manner  cannot  fail  to  give  satis- 
faction to  all  who  may  favor  her  with  a  call. 

N.  B. — A  new  supply  of  Patterns  and  Hoop  Skiits  (the  famous  "Demo- 
rest  Patent,")  were  received  by  last  steamer.  We  unhesitatingly  recom- 
mend our  friends  and  the  public  generally  to  call  and  examine  the  new  styles, 
and  to  give  Messrs.  Brigham  &  Co.  a  share  of  their  patronage. 


9S 


PATTERNS. 


THE  AMAZON. 

This  jacket  will  at  once  become  a  favorite 
with  our  lady  readers,  because  it  is  neat  and 
coquettish.  It  is  very  simple  and  tells  its  own 
story.  The  sleeve  is  peculiar,  and  the  prettiest 
of  the  family  of  coat  sleeves.  It  is  slightly  full 
and  the  back  is  brought  over  the  front  and  laid 
in  box-plaits  ;  in  the  centre  of  each  of  which  is 
a  button.  The  regular  sections  in  the  jacket, 
are  simply  over-lapped  and  fastened  with  but- 
tons. 


'"•v^jj 


BLOCKADE  SLEEVE. 

This  sleeve  is  plain  at  the  top,  with  a  cap  cut 
in  squares.  It  is  cut  moderately  flowing,  but 
the  flow  is  lessened  by  the  lower  part  of  the 
sleeve  being  over-lapped,  the  edge  being  cut  in 
square  blocks,  and  finished  with  a  narrow  quil- 
ling or  binding  and  buttons. 


CHILD'S  GORED  DRESS. 

This  is  a  very  beautiful  gored  dress  for  a  lit 
tie  girl.  The  gores  are  cut  in  points,  and  over- 
lap each  other,  each  point  being  fastened  by  a 
button.  The  bottom  of  the  skirt  is  surrounded 
by  two  frills,  pinked  on  the  edge.  The  short 
sleeves  are  puffed  and  slashed  with  velvet. — 
Price,  $1  00 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


Vol.  VIII.]  MAY,     1862.  [No.  3 


THE  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 

WHAT  THEY   HAVE   BEEN  AND  WHAT    THEY  ARE.— THEIR  RELATIONS   WITH 
THE    UNITED    STATES   IN    THE  EXISTING    NATIONAL     CRISIS.— THE 
MODIFICATIONS  OF  THEIR  CHARACTER  BY  THE  INFUSION 
OF  WHITE  BLOOD  AND  THE  CONTACT  OF  CIVIL- 
IZATION.—THEIR  PROBABLE  DESTINY. 


BY     JOHN     R.     RIDGE. 


[Continued  from  page  60.] 

The  belief  of  the  Indians  in  so  great  a  multitude  of  spirits  and  de- 
mons, affords  a  wide  field  for  the  exercise  of  priestcraft  and  ma- 
gic ;  and  thus  we  find  arising  from  the  system  a  host  of  Medas 
or  priests,  Medicine-men  and  magicians,  and  Jossakeeds  or  pro- 
phets. Among  the  uncivilized  tribes  of  the  present  day,  the  old 
customs  in  this  regard  remain  unchanged.  The  influence  of  the 
magicians  is  felt  in  nearly  all  the  operations  of  everyday  life, — 
and  their  power  is  supposed  to  be  most  potently  exercised  in  the 
affairs  of  hunting  and  of  war.  There  are  hunters  claiming  to 
be  gifted  with  magic,  and  warriors  endowed  by  the  Medas  with 
a  species  of  invulnerability  in  battle.  Many  of  the  warriors  are 
made  to  believe  that  the  rubbing  of  a  certain  plant,  called  in  the 
Chippewa  "  peyhikawusk,"  over  their  bodies,  accompanied  with 
incantations  from  the  priest,  actually  renders  them  at  times  invisi- 
ble on  the  battle  field,  and  at  other  times  causes  them  to  appear 
not  in  their  own  shapes  but  in  those  of  monstrous  and  terrible 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by  Mrs.   F.   H.  DAT,   in   the   Clerks 
Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Northern  District  of  California. 


100 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


beasts,  to  the  dismay  and  consternation  of  their  foes.  This  plant 
the  initiated  carry  with  them  in  their  medicine  bags,  which  we 
may  say,  for  the  better  understanding  of  the  reader,  are  bags 
formed  something  like  the  ordinary  bullet  pouch  of  the  hunter, 
but  beautifully  ornamented  with  shells  or  beads,  wrought  into 
various  devices,  Now  that  we  have  uttered  the  word  "  initia- 
ted," we  may  as  well  proceed  to  say  that  all  of  Indian  sorcery, 
prophecy  or  what  not  of  the  like  character,  belongs  to  two  grand 
systems  or  institutions  which  have  existed  from  time  immmemo- 
rial  upon  the  North  American  portion  of  this  continent.  These 
institutions  are  known  respectively  as  the  Medawin  and  Jeesuk- 
awin,  terms  which  we  take  from  the  language  of  the  northern 
tribes.  They  are  of  very  ancient  origin  and  are  the  same  in  all 
the  tribes,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  with  minor 
differences.  The  Medawin  is  an  association  of  men  who  profess 
the  art  of  magic,  and  the  Medicine-men,  although  not  always 
Medas,  have  a  sort  of  connection  with  the  order.  A  portion  of 
the  ceremonies  of  this  society  are  secret.  Candidates  are  pri- 
vately instructed  and  afterwards  publicly  admitted,  by  many  im- 
posing rites.  Those  who  rise  to  distinction  in  this  art  are  held 
in  very  high  veneration.  They  have  at  their  beck  whole  legions 
of  demons,  and  it  is  not  uncommon  to  see  the  familiar  spirit  of 
some  great  conjurer  sitting  on  top  of  his  lodge,  in  the  shape  of 
an  owl  or  a  raven,  or  crouching  in  the  corner  like  a  domesticated 
fox  or  wolf.  An  old  Cherokee  magician,  cotemporary  with  Te- 
cumseh,  inspired  great  dread  from  the  fact  that  two  demons  at- 
tended him  in  the  shape  of  a  couple  of  ferocious  black  wolves. 
With  these  he  went  out  on  his  hunting  excursions  and  being  a 
very  skilful  hunter,  his  success  was  attributed  to  magic. 

The  Jeesukawin  is  a  term  denoting  the  art  of  prophecy.  The 
secrets  of  this  institution  are  scrupulously  kept  from  the  masses. 
During  his  prophetic  utterances  the  Jossakeed  beats  a  drum  and 
at  intervals  proceeds  with  songs  and  incantations.  He  is  gener- 
ally a  man  of  shrewd  intellect,  for  a  stupid  man  can  never  suc- 
ceed in  the  office.  The  Jossakeed  pretends  to  put  great  faith  in 
certain  stuffed  birds,  flints,  and  bones  of  a  sacred  character  which 
he  keeps  in  his  lodge.     No  important  movement  of  a   national 


THE    NORTH   AMERICAN    INDIANS.  101 

character  is  undertaken  without  previous  consultation  with  the 
oracular  Jossakeed,  and  the  frantic  gesticulations  with  which  he 
undertakes  to  call  down  the  power  of  the  Great  Spirit  are  harrowing 
to  behold.  There  is  an  offshot  from  the  Medawin  of  considerable 
antiquity,  which  is  called  the  Wabeno,  and  the  object  of  it  is 
principally  the  propitiation  of  evil  spirits.  We  are  enabled  from 
copies  of  papers  furnished  to  the  Indian  Department  at  Washing- 
ton to  present  the  reader  with  a  portion  of  the  songs  in  the  cer- 
emonies of  the  Medawin  and  the  Wabeno.  The  medicine  chants 
of  the  Meda  are  pictorially  represented  on  pieces  of  bark,  with 
various  figures  of  animate  and  inanimate  things.  Each  figure  is 
symbolical,  and  calls  to  the  memory  of  the  performer  the  partic- 
ular words  of  the  song  to  be  used.  The  medicine  lodge  is  sup- 
posed to  be  filled  with  the  presence  of  the  Great  Spirit.  The 
priest,  surrounded  by  his  associates,  sings — 

The  Great  Spirit's  lodge — 
You  have  heard  of  it — 
I  will  enter  it. 

This  is  repeated  by  his  followers,  while  the  priest  shakes  his 
rattle — a  terrapin  shell  or  gourd  filled  with  small  pebbles  of  uni- 
form size — while  each  member  of  the  society  holds  up  one  hand 
towards  heaven.  A  candidate  for  admission  approaches,  holding 
in  his  hand  an  otter  skin  pouch,  the  precise  object  of  which  we 
do  not  understand.  He  repeats  after  the  priest  the  accompani- 
ment of  the  drum  and  rattle, — 

I  have  always  loved  that  that  I  seek. 
I  go  into  the  new  green  leaf  lodge  ! 

After  a  few  other  ceremonies  the  Meda  men  assemble  in  an- 
other lodge  containing  a  vapor  bath.  None  but  the  superior 
Medas  enter  this  lodge,  and  while  they  are  taking  their  bath, 
they  tell  to  each  other  certain  secrets  known  respectively  to 
each,  there  being  various  orders  in  the  Medawin.  During  this 
process  members  of  the  lower  order  are  initiated  into  the  secrets 
of  the  higher.  Previous  to  entering  the  bath  the  chief  priest 
sings  while  the  rest  follow,  beating  time  on  their  drums  and  mov- 
ing round  the  lodge  with  measured  tread — 

I  go  into  the  hath — 

I  blow  my  brother  strong. 


102  THE     HESPERIAN. 


An  initiation  fee  of  valuable  wampum  is  here  presented  in 
due  form,  and  accepted.  The  next  ceremony  is  to  dance  around 
the  Meda  tree,  which  is  no  real  tree,  but  an  imaginary  one  sup- 
posed to  be  within  a  circle  outside  of  the  lodge.  The  words  which 
are  here  chanted,  with  many  repetitions  and  transpositions,  are 

"What !  My  life  my  single  tree ! 
We  dance  around  you. 

The  dance  here  is  of  a  very  unique  and  indescribable  charac- 
ter. Next  comes  a  priest  into  the  circle  with  a  stuffed  crane 
skin,  over  which  he  mumbles  for  some  seconds,  whilst  the  coun- 
tenances of  the  bystanders  sfsume  a  solemnity  of  aspect  impossi- 
ble upon  any  other  than  an  Indian  face.  By  some  hocus  pocus 
plovers  and  other  birds  are  made  to  spring  from  the  crane  skin. 
These  birds  are  supposed  to  be  spirits  evoked  by  the  power  of 
necromancy.     As  he  shakes  this  crane-skin  the  priest  sings  : 

I  wish  to  see  them  appear  ; 
I  wish  them  to  appear. 

Here  the  priest  shows  a  charmed  arrow  which,  when  sent 
upon  its  mystical  mission,  penetrates  the  sky  and  never  ceases  its 
flight  until  its  return  is  ordered  by  the  Meda.     The  priest  chants 

This,  this  is  the  Meda  bone. 

Something  is  then  done  with  a  hawk-skin,  and  the   priest 

says — 

All  round  the  circle  of  the  sky 
I  hear  the  spirit's  voice. 

Presenting  symbols  of  the  sun  pursuing  his  course  through 
the  meridian,  the  priest  sings — 

I  walk  upon  half  of  the  sky. 

Representing  in  his  person  the  god  of  thunder  and  lightning , 

he  continues — 

I  sound  all  round  the  sky : 

You  shall  hear  the  sound  of  my  big  drum, 

Do  you  understand  my  drum  ? 

Here  a  stuffed  raven  is  exhibited,  with  the  words — 
I  sing  the  raven  that  has  brave  feathers. 


THE   NORTH   AMERICAN   INDIANS.  103 

The  priest  then  puts  on  the  wings   and  head  of  a  crow,  and 

with  many  frantic  motions  chants — 

I  am  the  crow  !  I  am  the  crow  ! 
This  skin  is  my  body. 

And  so  the  ceremonies  proceed  for  several  hours,  with  vari- 
ous prayers  and  incantations  and  symbolical  representations 
which  have  a  meaning  known  only  to  the  initiated. 

The  mysteries  of  the  Wabeno  are  conducted  mostly  at  mid- 
night, and  their  object  is  to  propitiate  the  spirits  of  good  and  evil. 
The  necromancer,  holding  a  magic  bone  in  his  hand,  opens  the 
performance  with  these  words  :  "  I  speak  to  the  Great  Spirit  to 
save  my  life  by  this  token,  and  to  make  it  efficacious  for  my 
preservation  and  success.     Hear  me  and  show  pity  to  my  cry." 

He  then  sings — 

I  am  a  friend  of  the  Wabeno,  &c, 

He  now  shows  the  symbol  of  a  tree  which  is  supposed  to  emit 
supernatural  sounds,  and  sings — 

I  (the  tree)  sound  for  my  life  as  I  stand. 

During  this  time  the  members  of  the  "Wabeno,  excepting  the 
priest,  are  sitting.  Now  they  rise  and  begin  to  dance.  Here  a 
Wabeno  dog  runs  towards  the  priest,  who  commences  vomiting 
blood.     All  sing — 

I  shall  run  to  him  who  is  my  body. 

The  dog  is  then  sent  out  for  the  purpose  of  killing  something, 
but  what  it  is  we  have  never  been  able  to  find  out.  However 
the  priest  knows  all  about  it.  All  on  a  sudden  they  call  a  halt, 
and  the  priest,  in  the  attitude  of  Macbeth  when  he  saw  the  ghost 
of  Ban  quo,  exclaims  with  startling  effect — 

Who  is  that  standing  there  ? 

A  Wabeno  spirit  is  standing  there  ! 

Many  wonderful  evolutions  are  performed  around  the  imagi- 
nary spirit.  And  then  a  wolf,  depicted  on  a  piece  of  bark,  is 
presented.  He  has  horns  on  his  head,  and  his  business  is  to  fol- 
low the  Wabeno  spirit  on  the  hunt  for  some  object  of  a  mythical 
but  important  character.  Another  symbol  is  presented  in  the 
picture  of  a  great  war  eagle,  accompanied  with  a  chant — 

They  shall  gather  in  the  sky — 
The  birds  shall  gather  in  the  sky. 


104  THE   HESPERIAN. 


This  bird  is  supposed  to  be  in  the  same  line  of  business  with  the 
wolf.  Some  obnoxious  animal,  who  is  in  reality  nothing  but 
some  evil  Manito,  is  now  killed  by  the  magician  in  the  following 
manner  :  An  image  of  it,  made  of  grass  or  cloth,  is  hung  up,  and 
the  magician  shoots  an  arrow  through  it.  The  arrow,  for  some 
reason  unknown  to  us,  is  immediately  drawn  out  and  burnt. 

A  picture  of  the  sun  is  then  exhibited  with  many  manifesta- 
tions of  reverence  and  awe,  as  being  symbolical  of  the  Great 
Spirit.  Various  other  ceremonies  are  gone  through  with,  the 
main  idea  of  which  seem  to  be  to  symbolize  the  power  of  the 
Wabeno  through  the  aid  of  the  Great  Spirit,  to  subordinate  the 
vegetable  and  the  animal  world  and  the  various  elements  of  na- 
ture, together  with  the  Manitoes  of  good  and  evil,  to  his  will. 

The  Medicine  Feast,  accompanied  with  dancing,  is  an  obser- 
vance connected  with  the  Medawin.  Those  who  partake  of  this 
feast  belong  to  the  inner  sanctuary  of  the  institution,  and  their 
secrets  are  carefully  concealed  from  the  masses.  The  secret  grips 
and  signs  have  been  recognized  as  identical  with  some  of  the  grips 
and  signs  of  Free  Masonry.  A  friend  of  ours,  who  was  a  Mason, 
informed  us  that  on  a  certain  perilous  occasion,  while  traveling 
on  the  Plains  east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  his  knowledge  of 
Masonry  saved  his  life.  Having  wandered  at  some  distance  from 
his  companions,  in  pursuit  of  antelope,  he  found  himself  sudden- 
ly surrounded  by  a  band  of  plumed  and  painted  warriors  of  the 
Dacotah  JSTation,  commanded  by  a  very  fierce  and  terrible-look- 
ing old  chief.  Scarcely  hoping  for  a  moment's  respite  from  death 
it  struck  him  that  he  had  heard  that  observances  similar  to  those 
of  Masonry  were  in  partial  use  among  the  Indian  tribes,  and  as  a 
desperate  last  resort,  he  rode  in  front  of  the  chief  and  gave  the 
Masonic  sign  of  supplication.  To  his  surprise  and  delight,  the 
chief  returned  the  true  response.  Our  hero  then  advanced  and 
shook  the  hand  of  the  chief,  giving  the  Masonic  grip.  It  was  re- 
turned, and  the  chief  gave  him  safe  conduct  back  to  his  camp. 
We  have  heard  of  instances  of  a  similar  character,  seemingly  well 
authenticated.  Free  Masons  who  have  observed  the  ceremonies 
of  the  Medicine  Feast  closely,  are  positive  with  regard  to  the 
identity  of  certain  of  the  signs  and  formula  with  those  of  Masonry. 
Candidates  for  admission  to  this  Feast  are  required  to  fast  for 
three  days.     During  this  fast,  they  are  taken  by  the  older  Medi- 


THE   NORTH   AMERICAN   rNDIANS.  105 


cine  Men  into  the  woods,  and  secretly  instructed  into  the  mysteries 
of  the  first  degrees-  of  the  society.  They  are  also  severely  sweated 
in  a  vapor  bath,  which  is  mingled  with  the  fames  of  certain 
magical  herbs.  The  object  of  this  is  the  thorough  purification  of 
the  subject,  before  clothing  him  with  the  divine  power.  The 
public  ceremony  begins  as  the  sun  approaches  the  meridian, 
and  takes  place  in  a  large  leafy  bower  erected  for  the  purpose. 
The  ground  is  covered  with  blankets,  upon  which  the  candidate 
kneels.  Eight  Medicine  Men  then  march  in  single  file  around 
him,  with  their  medicine-bags  in  hand.  At  the  completion  of 
each  circuit,  they  halt,  and  one  of  them  makes  a  short  speech. 
This  is  repeated,  until  each  Medicine  Man  has  had  his  say.  Their 
medicine-bags  are  then  laid  upon  the  blankets,  and,  after  violent 
retching,  each  Medicine  Man  ejects  from  his  mouth  a  small  white 
sea-shell,  called  the  Medicine  Stone,  which  he  claims  to  have 
vomitted  from  his  stomach.  These  stones  they  put  into  their 
medicine-bags,  and  arrange  themselves  in  front  of  the  candidate. 
Advancing  in  a  stately  dance,  with  measured  step  and  chant, 
they  suddenly  halt  in  close  proximity  to  the  initiate,  and  one  of 
them  with  a  fierce  exclamation,  to  which  the  others  add  energy 
by  a  simultaneous  "  Ough,"  thrusts  his .  medicine-bag  into  the 
chest  of  the  initiate.  He,  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  at  once  falls 
to  the  ground  and  grows  rigid,  quivering  in  every  muscle.  At 
this  time  he  appears  very  much  like  one  under  mesmeric  or  psy- 
chological influence,  and  rises  in  a  sort  of  somnambulic  state 
which  he  does  not  seem  to  shake  off  during  the  remainder  of  the 
ceremonies.  After  this  comes  the  feast,  at  which  dog-fiesh  is  the 
prominent  dish.  The  candidate  is  now  a  Medicine  Man  in  full 
membership  and  communion.  The  betrayal  of  the  secrets  of  this 
order  is  punished  with  death.  We  may  remark  here  that  these 
Medicine  Men  have  actually  the  power  of  controlling  the  muscles 
and  will  of  persons  upon  whom  they  fix  their  attention  with  that 
view,  and  they  have  been  seen  to  throw  men  prostrate,  without 
touching  them,  by  a  mere  motion  of  the  hand.  These  facts  are 
so  well  established,  that  we  must  seriously  incline  to  the  opinion 
that  the  secret  of  Mesmerism  is  not  unknown  to  the  members  of 
this  order. 

The  aboriginal  idea  of  a  future  state  is  somewhat  vague,  and 
the  Indian's  mind  has  mapped  out  no  distinct  localities  or  con- 


106  THE    HESPERIAN. 


ditions  answering  to  the  Christian  notion  of  a  heaven  or  a  hell. 
Such  conceptions  of  a  state  of  future  rewards  and  punishments  as 
are  now  found,  or  have  been  from  time  to  time  found,  since  the  set- 
tlement of  this  continent  by  the  whites,  interwoven  with  the  reli- 
gious creeds  of  the  savages,  are,  without  doubt,  attributable  to 
an  ingrafting  of  the  religious  teachings  of  those  missionaries  who, 
having  penetrated  into  the  forests  and  partially  converted  the  na- 
tives, have  afterwards  left  them  to  their  original  bent  and  the 
sway  of  their  early  mythological  notions.     With  a  full  belief  in 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  Indian,  in  his  primitive  state, 
recognized  no  accountability  to  the  Great   Spirit  for  any  of  his 
actions.     He  was  thankful  for  the  light  of  the  sun,  the  return  of 
the  seasons,  the   growth  of  the  crops    of  maize,  and  the  abun- 
dance of  game  in  the  forests.     But  he  believed  himself  to  be  sub- 
ject to  the  machinations  of  evil  and  malignant  spirits,  over  whom 
the  great  passively  Good  Spirit  had  no  particular  control,  and  to 
these  most  of  his  propitiatory  prayers  and  sacrifices  were  made. 
His  principal  dread  was  that  he  might  after  death,  by  demoniacal 
influence,  be  transformed  into  some  beast,  bird  or  reptile,  of  whose 
character  or  habits  he  happened  to    entertain  a  special  horror. 
That   he   might  become  the  soul  of  a  tree  or  a  mountain  or  a 
stream,  or  that  he  might  wander  a  homeless  spirit  through  a 
thousand  various  mutations,  unrecognized  by  kindred  or  friends 
in  the  "  land  of  souls,"  was  a  part  of  his  belief.     The  "  land  of 
souls  "  is  a  term  which  signifies  a  sort  of  shadowy  world,  the 
counterpart  of  this,  where  the  souls  of  men  and  animals  go  after 
death.     The  horse,  if  killed,  goes  with  his  rider,  and  the  dog 
with  his  master.     And  yet  the  soul  of  a  man  or  an  animal  was 
by   no   means   confined   there,  but   might  haunt  the  material 
sphere  and  go  through  various  material  transformations.     Hap- 
piness, in  the  future  life,  according  to  the  Indian  faith,  was  the 
rule  ;  misery  the   exception.     Everybody  would  be  happy,  un- 
less he  had  the  extreme  ill-luck  to  be  given  over  to  the  demons, 
and  from  this  fate  due  watchfulness  and  a  fee  in  proper  time  to 
some  great  Meda  would  save  him.     One  reason  why  the  Indian 
died  so  calmly  and  with  so  little  dread  was,  that  he  had  no 
belief  whatever  in  a  hell,  and  no  conception  of  a  place  of  tor- 
ments. 


THE    NORTH    AMERICAN    INDIANS.  107 

The  spirits  of  the  departed  often  come  back  and  visit  upon 
the  living  their  wrath  for  offenses  committed  against  them  while 
in  the  flesh,  or  for  neglect  of  their  graves  or  of  certain  customaiy 
offerings  to  the  dead.  The  spirits  of  animals  come  back  and  en- 
ter living  persons,  causing  disease  ;  and  it  requires  a  fearful 
amount  of  conjuring  on  the  part  of  the  Medicine  Men,  to  exor- 
cise the  evil  presence. 

We  have  observed  elsewhere  that  the  Indian  tribes  have  for 
the  most  part  persistently  rejected  the  tenets  of  the  Christian 
faith.  They  find  great  difficulty  in  believing  that  the  Great 
Spirit  would  give  a  book,  containing  his  revealed  will,  originally 
to  the  white  man  and  not  to  the  Indian.  They  cannot  see  how 
they  are  to  be  held  responsible  for  the  conduct  of  Adam  and  Eve 
many  ages  ago.  In  short,  the  logic  of  the  gospel  scheme  of 
human  salvation  is  beyond  the  grasp  of  their  untutored  reason. 
The  reply  of  Red  Jacket,  Chief  of  the  Six  Nations,  to  the  speech 
of  the  "Black  Robe"  (the  Christian  missionary),  who  in  pres- 
ence of  the  assembled  Council  of  the  Iroquois  had  proclaimed 
the  "true  G-ospel,"  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  general  reasoning  of 
the  Indian  imn4  upon  the  subject  of  the  white  man's  religion. 
It  is  as  follows  : 

"  Friend  and  Brother  : — It  was  the  will  of  the  Great  Spirit  that  we  should 
meet  together  this  day.  He  orders  all  thirjgs,  and  has  given  us  a  fine  day  for 
our  council.  He  has  taken  His  garment  from  before  the  sun  and  caused  it  to 
shine  with  brightness  upon  us.  For  all  these  favors  we  thank  the  Great 
Spirit,  and  Him  only.  Brother,  this  council-fire  was  kindled  by  you.  It  was 
at  your  request  that  we  came  together  at  this  time.  All  have  heard  your 
Voice  and  all  speak  to  you  now  as  one  man — our  minds  are  agreed.  Brother, 
continue  to  listen.  You  say  that  you  are  sent  to  instruct  us  how  to  worship 
and  serve  the  Great  Spirit,  and  that  if  we  do  not  take  hold  of  the  religion 
which  you  preach,  we  shall  be  unhappy  hereafter.  You  say  that  you  are 
right  and  we  are  wrong.  But  how  do  we  know  this  to  be  true  ?  We  are  told 
that  your  religion  is  written  in  a  book.  If  it  was  intended  for  us  as  well  as 
for  you,  why  has  not  the  Great  Spirit  given  it  to  us,  and  not  only  to  us,  but 
why  did  He  not  give  to  our  forefathers  the  knowledge  of  that  book,  and  the 
means  of  understanding  it  rightly  ?  We  only  know  what  you  tell  us  about  it. 
How  shall  we  know  when  to  believe,  being  so  often  deceived  by  the  white 
people  ?  Brother,  listen  to  what  we  say.  There  was  a  time  when  our  fore- 
fathers owned  this  great  island;  their  seats  extended  from  the  rising  to  the 
setting  sun.     The  Great  Spirit  had  made  it  for  the  use  of  the  Indians.     He 


108 


THE   HESPERIAN. 


had  created  the  buffalo,  the  bear  and  the  beaver,  and  taught  us  how  to  take 
them ;  their  skins  served  us  for  clothing.  He  gave  us  also  corn  for  bread.  If 
we  had  some  disputes  about  our  hunting-ground,  they  were  generally  settled 
without  the  shedding  of  much  blood.  But  an  evil  day  came  upon  us.  Your 
forefathers  crossed  the  great  water  and  landed  on  this  island.  Their  num- 
bers were  small,  but  they  found  friends,  and  not  enemies.  They  told  us  they 
had  fled  from  their  own  country  for  fear  of  wicked  men,  and  had  come  here 
to  enjoy  their  religion.  They  Galled  us  brothers.  We  believed  them,  and 
gave  them  a  large  seat,  and  they  sat  down  among  us.  We  gave  them  corn 
and  meat;  they  gave  us  poison  in  return  [alluding  to  ardent  spirits.]  The 
white  people  had  now  found  our  country;  tidings  were  carried  back,  and 
more  came  among  us,  yet  we  did  not  fear  them,  for  we  took  them  to  be  friends. 
At  length  their  numbers  had  greatly  increased.  They  wanted  more  land — 
they  wanted  our  country.  Then  our  minds  became  uneasy  :  war  took  place  ; 
Indians  were  hired  to  fight  against  Indians,  and  many  of  our  people  were  de- 
stroyed. They  also  introduced  strong  liquor  among  us.  It  was  strong  and 
powerful,  and  has  slain  thousands.  Brother,  our  seats  were  once  large,  and 
yours  were  small.  You  have  now  become  a  great  people,  and  we  have 
scarcely  a  place  left  to  spread  our  blankets.  You  have  got  our  country,  but 
you  are  not  satisfied  ;  you  want  to  force  your  religion  upon  us.  Brother,  con- 
tinue to  listen.  You  say  that  you  are  sent  to  instruct  us  how  to  worship  and 
serve  the  Great  Spirit.  If  there  is  but  one  religion,  why  do  you  differ  so 
much  about  it?  Why  not  all  agree,  as  you  can  all  read  the  same  book ? 
Brother,  we  do  not  understand  these  things.  We  are  told1  that  your  religion 
was  handed  down  to  you  from  your  forefathers.  We  also  have  a  religion 
which  the  Great  Spirit  gave  to  our  forefathers,  and  which  has  been  handed 
down  to  us,  and  we  worship  accordingly.  It  teaches  us  to  be  thankful  for  all 
the  favors  we  receive  and  to  love  each  other  and  be  united.  We  never  quar- 
rel about  religion.  Brother,  we  have  been  told  that  you  have  been  preaching 
to  the  white  people  in  this  place.  These  people  are  our  neighbors.  We  will 
therefore  wait  a  little,  and  see  what  effect  your  preaching  has  upon  them.  If 
we  find  that  it  does  them  good — makes  them  love  each  other  and  less  dis- 
posed to  cheat  Indians — we  will  then  consider  of  what  you  have  said." 

Poor  old  Red  Jacket !  He  desired  to  see  faith  and  practice, 
precept  and  example  united.  He  desired  to  see  the  religion  of 
the  Christians  illustrated  in  their  lives !  He  failed  to  discover  it, 
and  so  remained  a  benighted  Pagan; 

The  advent  of  one  of  the  first  of  the  missionaries  who  went 
among  the  Cherokees,  was  attended  with  a  very  grotesque  and 
amusing  circumstance.  With  patient  labor  the  pious  and  devo- 
ted man  (for  he  was  truly  such),  had  acquired  a  sufficient  knowl- 
edge of  the  Cherokee  tongue  to  justify  him   in  addressing  the 


THE    NORTH   AMERICAN    INDIANS.  109 

people.  At  his  request,  on  a  day  selected,  the  chiefs  and  warri- 
ors assembled  to  hear  the  important  mission  which  he  had  to  de- 
liver. With  great  gravity  did  they  sit  and  listen,  while  the  ven- 
erable minister  went  on  to  simplify  to  their  comprehensions  the 
general  principles  of  the  great  moral  code  which  is  founded  upon 
the  golden  rule.  His  remarks  seemed  to  give  much  satisfaction 
to  a  grim  old  war-chief,  who  sat,  painted  and  plumed,  in  a  corner 
of  the  Council  House,  and  who  arose  at  intervals  to  endorse 
what  the  preacher  said,  and  to  advise  his  people  to  pay  good 
heed  to  it.  "  You  hear,"  he  would  observe,  "  what  this  good  man 
says.  It  is  the  truth  that  he  is  telling  you.  See  that  you  do  not 
forget  it."  After  such  interruptions,  he  would  nod  to  the  preach- 
er to  go  on,  and  with  great  gravity  resume  his  seat.  Finally  the 
speaker  arrived  at  a  point  where  he  introduced  the  story  of 
Christ.  The  narration  greatly  moved  the  war-chief,  and  when 
the  missionary  went  on  to  tell  that,  notwithstanding  all  the  good 
and  kind  acts  of  Jesus,  his  miracles  and  his  benefactions,  he 
was  taken  up  by  the  Jews  and  tried  for  his  life,  the  excitement 
of  the  savage  visibly  increased,  and  he  shot  fiery  glances  around 
him.  But,  when  the  missionary  related  with  painful  precision 
the  details  of  the  cruel  death  upon  the  cross,  the  old  warrior  of 
a  hundred  fights  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  Springing  to 
his  feet,  he  brandished  his  tomahawk  aloft  and  sounded  the  war- 
hoop  in  the  ears  of  the  startled  assemblage.  "  White  Chief!"  he 
exclaimed,  "  lead  us  on  the  war-path  !  Show  us  the  murdering 
dogs  of  whom  you  speak.  We  will  revenge  the  death  of  this 
good  man !"  It  was  some  time  before  the  missionary  could  ex- 
plain to  him  that  the  killing  of  Christ  was  no  recent  affair,  but 
an  event  very  far  back  in  the  past,  and  that  the  people  who  did 
the  deed  were  not  accessible  at  the  end  of  any  war-path  which 
could  at  that  time  be  conveniently  opened.  Upon  this  explana- 
tion, the  ardor  of  the  chief  at  once  abated,  and  he  subsided  into 
such  a  total  indifference  regarding  the  new  religion,  that  he  could 
never  again  be  induced  to  pay  any  attention  to  it  whatever. 

[To  be  continued.] 


LIGHT     OUT     OF     DARKNESS 


BY   MRS.    F.    H.    DAY. 


I've  seen  the  day  go  down  in  clouds, 
Mid  sheets  of  falling  rain, 
And  heard  the  thunder's  fearful  roll, 
The  winds  dirge-like  refrain. 
And  thought  that  all  was  lost — 
In  night's  deep  boding  gloom, 
Whose  brooding  shadows  cast 
Deep  prophecies  of  doom. 

And  lo  !     I've  seen  the  brightest  morn 

From  darkest  night  arise, 

In  more  than  regal  splendor  born, 

Bright  triumph  of  the  skies — 

Its  genial  radiance  shed 

O'er  all  earth's  darksome  way- 

A  gorgeous  pageant  led — 

By  the  sun's  glittering  ray. 

So  weary  child  of  toil  look  up 
Though  darkness  round  thee  roll. 
Drink  to  the  dregs  the  brimmiug  cup 
T'will  clarify  thy  Soul— 
By  all  thy  grief  of  heart 
Thy  agony  and  woe 
Is  born  that  better  part 
Which  only  sufferers  know. 

From  night  the  day  is  born, 
From  darkness  cometh  light — 
Joy  is  for  those  who  mourn, 
He  doeth  all  things  right. 


There  is  no  situation,  however,  humble,  the  which  to  fill  to 
perfection  does  not  argue  superiority  of  character, 


THE  TESTIMONY  OF   MAN'S   SENTIMENT   TOUCHING 
THE  RANK  OF  WOMAN. 


BY   MRS.    E.    W.    FARNHAM. 


[Continued  from  page  89.] 

Thus  much  of  the  sentiment  of  man  (as  a  lover)  touching  the 
spiritual  superiority  of  woman.  How  does  woman  answer  it  ? 
She  uses,  we  know,  no  such  language  toward  him,  however  deep- 
ly and  unreservedly  she  may  love  him.  She  has  seldom  to  pro- 
pose to  herself  a  reform  from  any  vicious  or  gross  habit,  because 
of  this  new  and  stirring  experience.  It  is  oftener  seen  to  be,  in 
some  degree,  the  reverse,  and  so  far  as  she  lets  his  control  super- 
sede self-control,  and  his  influence  lead  her  away  from  herself, 
she  leaves,  in  so  doing,  the  pure,  orderly,  tranquil  habits  of  her 
previous  years,  and  takes  on,  in  conformity  to  his  wishes,  slight 
if  not  serious  irregularities,  dissipations  or  light  habits,  which 
have  led  him  a  long  distance,  it  may  be,  from  the  point  in  his  life 
where  it  was  as  well  regulated  and  balanced  as  hers  is.  If  he 
looks  to  her  to  be  himself  improved  and  regenerated  in  respect  to 
the  things  wherein  he  condemns  himself,  she  does  not  look  to  him 
for  the  same  or  similar  blessing  and  help.  Something,  certainly, 
she  does  expect  from  him,  as  I  have  said,  which  is  much — very 
much — to  her,  but  not  this ;  nor  often  anything  like  this.  And 
she  feels  so  much  reality  in  the  grounds  on  which  he  claims  it  of 
her,  that  if  she  smiles  at  seeing  herself  addressed  as  an  angel  or 
the  angelic  creature  who  is,  somehow,  to  get  it  accomplished,  it 
is  not  a  smile  of  levity,  or  derision,  or  unbelief,  but  rather  one 
which  expresses  deep  and  serious  happiness  that  her  soul  has 
taken  its  prize  in  the  arena  of  life  ;  and  the  task  that  comes  along 
with  it  is  sweet  to  her,  not  alone  because  of  the  love  she  gives  and 
receives,  but  because  in  the  loving,  somewhat,  the  divinest  action 
of  her  divinest  capabilities  as  a  savior  is  called  for.  Her  own 
sense  of  truth,  if  she  be  not  utterly  unintuitional  or  conscious  of 
some  grave,  repeated  or  wilful  derelictions,  is  not  outraged  in  the 
imputation  to  her  of  angelic  qualities.  For  by  such  language  she 
understands  her  lover  to  mean  what,  by  comparison  with  himself, 


V 


112  THE   HESPERIAN. 


she  knows  is  true,  her  greater  purity  of  life,  refinement  and  deli- 
cacy of  nature,  with  a  correspondent  deeper  love  of,  and  attraction 
to,  all  that  is  related  to  these  beautiful  attributes.  At  least,  so 
much  is  meant,  and  perhaps  something  more,  which  we  shall  find 
under  succeeding  heads  of  this  argument.  If  she  be  a  true, 
worthy  woman,  with  the  deep  religious  heart  that  belongs  to  such 
an  one,  she  hopes,  in  the  humility- of  her  soul,  that  she  shall  jus- 
tify this  great  faith  in  herself — shall  prove  her  angel  nature  to 
him  who  affirms  it,  in  doing  him  the  good  he  prays  for  at  her 
hand.  *     [Please  read  the  note  below.] 

All  that  he  makes  individual,  she  feels  to  be  true  of  woman- 
hood, if  not  of  herself,  and  therefore  never  denies  it,  for,  accord- 
ing to  the  depths  that  are  moved  by  the  love  appealing  to  her, 
she  more  or  less  yearns  to  excel  the  truth  of  her  sex,  rather  than 
fall  short  of  it.  So  she  takes  his  words  of  adoration  earnestly,  or, 
if  with  chiding,  it  is  more  in  fondness  than  sharpness,  and  in  her 
heart  prays  that  it  may  be  even  so. 

But  think  of  reversing  this  language  in  its  application,  and 
addressing  it  to  man  !  How  foolish,  how  absurd,  how  shocking 
to  taste  would  it  be  !  How  would  it  offend  and  disgust  him  ! 
How  incapable  would  any  woman  be  of  writing  or  speaking  seri- 
ously to  a  man  in  such  a  strain,  except  in  those  peculiar  and  very 
rare  cases,  whose  extreme  infrequency  proves  that  their  opposite 
is  the  almost  universal  rule.  Even  his  materiel  and  the  most  ob- 
vious of  his  mental  and  spiritual  faculties  forbid  it.  Conceive 
the  utter  falsity  of  addressing  a  bearded,  booted — perhaps  bald — 
collared  and  cravatted  man,  as  an  angel !  His  eye  is  full  of  the 
resolution  of  external  conquest  and  worldly  success.  In  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  are  mingled  the  sense  of,  and  the  desire  for, 
external  power,  intellectual  acuteness,  the  challenge  to  competi- 

*  There  is  grave  difficulty  in  stating,  in  an  acceptable  manner,  or  even, 
as  above,  in  hinting  at  the  real  nature  of  woman,  arising  from  its  very  gen- 
eral perversion  through  miseducation,  slavery  or  dependence,  or  all  these 
combined.  But  I  cannot  sacrifice  what  I  feel  to  be  truths  of  woman  to  ac- 
commodate my  statements  to  any  standard  of  false  developement,  prejudice, 
or  false  judgment  of  her.  All  these  being  temporary  effects  of  temporary 
causes,  must  in  time  disappear,  and  the  true  woman  will  be  commonly  seen, 
as  now  she  rarely  is, — so  rarely,  indeed,  that  I  can  scarcely  expect  all  readers 
to  recognize  her  portrait,  even  were  it  mueh  more  perfect  than  the  broken 
lineaments  of  her  which  I  now  present  to  them. 


THE   RANK   OF  WOMAN.  113 

tors,  the  alert,  persistent  self-defence,  the  complacency  of  attained 
or  near  success  ;  the  pain  of  already-endured  or  the  anxiety  of  im- 
pending defeat.  Is  this  an  angelic  being?  A  very  efficient,  able 
resolute,  just,  brave,  and  even  tender  man,  he  may  be,  but  no  an- 
gel, certainly — not  angelic  in  any  sense  that  he  would  be  pleased 
to  have  expatiated  upon  by  one  standing  face  to  face  with  him. 
The  men  to  whom  these  terms  can  sometimes  be  applied,  are  the 
womanly  men — the  St.  Johns,  not  the  St.  Peters,  the  Oberlins,  not 
the  Luthers — the  Raphaels,  not  the  Buonarottis — the  Channings, 
not  the  Beechers. 

But  if  a  sentiment  so  uniformly  expressed  as  this  of  man 
proves  (and  no  one,  I  think,  will  deny  that  it  does,)  the  existence 
in  woman  of  the  qualities  and  capacities  it  supposes  and  appeals 
to,  no  less  must  its  absence  in  woman  prove  that  the  same  attri- 
butes in  him  are  not  his  leading  ones — not  those  which  she  most 
broadly  recognizes  and  builds  her  hopes  of  happiness  and  good 
from  him  upon.  It  is  quite  clear  that  each  of  the  sexes  in  loving 
the  other,  has  its  chief  delight  and  most  abundant  and  substantial 
satisfaction,  in  those  qualities  wherein  their  personalities  are  op- 
posed ;  and  that,  of  the  two,  the  larger  personality  as  a  whole 
must  bear  the  most  detailed  analysis,  and  command  the  most  re- 
spectful, reverential  treatment  and  development. 

"When  baith  bent  down  ower  ae  braid  page, 

Wi'  ae  buik  on  our  knee, 
Thy  lips  were  on  thy  lesson,  but 

My  lesson  teas  in  thee.'''' 

The  man  says  :  "  If  you  cast  me  off,  I  shall  die  heart-broken. 
I  am  in  your  hands.  Do  what  you  will  wfth  me,  only  be 
merciful  and  loving.  Rule  me  as  my  sovereign,  but  be  at  the 
same  time  the  Queen  of  Love  ;  for  I  am  your  subject.  Love  me, 
and  make  a  man  of  me.  You  alone  can  do  it."  Thus  it  is  that 
men  delight  to  acknowledge  the  superiority  of  the  woman  be- 
loved over  themselves.  Not  only  this,  but  they  fill  pages  and 
even  whole  sheets  with  statements  of  herself — to  herself:  these 
being  mostly,  when  not  wholly,  the  unfolding,  as  they  see  them, 
of  the  spiritual  and  affectional  elements  of  her  being,  and  the 
showing  of  her  power  in  those  directions  which  are  delightful 
and  refreshing  to  man,  because  they  are  the  opposite  of  the  phy- 

2 


114  THE    HESPERIAN. 


sical  and  intellectual  directions  in  which  his  power  unfolds 
most  spontaneously.  Nor  is  it  vanity  or  egotism  which  makes  a 
woman  receive  and  read  such  sheets  without  impatience  or  pro- 
test. It  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  perception,  an  intuition,  that  in  the 
broadest  sense,  if  not  wholly  in  the  personal  one,  they  contain 
truth.  They  are  the  treatment  of  her  personality  as  a  whole, 
and  the  reverent  recognition  of  what  is  at  once  its  strongest  and 
noblest  side.  But  man's  personality  receives  but  a  fraction  of 
the  treatment  given  to  woman's  in  such  a  correspondence,  be- 
cause, being  the  lower  of  the  two,  it  does  not  kindle  the  inspira- 
tion, in  either  soul,  to  handle  it  so.  We  never,  in  such  high 
hours  as  those  of  pure,  exalted  love,  voluntarily  choose  the  less 
noble  of  two  themes  or  subjects  before  us. 

So  if  woman  says  little  of  herself  in  answer  to  all  that  he  has 
said  of  her,  she  also  says  little  of  him  compared  to  the  space  she 
is  spread  over".  The  nises  of  his  developement  being  in  the 
direction  of  the  physical  and  intellectual,  as  opposed  to  her  intu- 
itive and  affectional  ;  worldly  and  external,  as  opposed  to  her 
spiritual  and  internal :  it  follows  very  clearly  that  without  inor- 
dinate egotism  in  him,  or  silliness  and  inanity  in  her,  he  will 
command,  by  much,  the  lesser  space  in  their  discussion  of  them- 
selves. Hence,  the  love-letters  of  women  who  are  capable  of 
departing  from  personal,  local  and  transient  topics,  pass,  after 
what  is  allowed  to  these  and  to  the  emotions  and  hopes  com- 
mon between  them  and  their  lovers,  to  impersonal  matters — 
statement  or  question  on  things  high  or  low,  according  to  the 
writer's  range  of  vision  ;  but  they  never  say  :  "  I  hope  to  be  re- 
generated by  your  purity  and  goodness.  I  feel  myself  made  bet- 
ter and  nobler  in  approaching  you.  I  pray  you  to  keep  watch 
and  ward  over  my  hardness,  and  soften  it ;  over  my  worldliness, 
and  put  something  higher  in  its  stead ;  over  my  ambition,  and 
transmute  it  into  aspiration  ;  over  my  selfishness,  and  make  it 
less  eager  for  the  gains  and  goods  it  craves." 

Whatever  a  woman's  love  for  a  man  and  her  candor  with 
him,  she  never  asks  him  for,  such  help.  Her  love  will  induce 
her,  for  his  sake,  and  that  she  may  be  to  him  the  best  and  no- 
blest of  which  her  life  is  capable,  to  endeavor  to  cure  herself,  it 
may  be,  of  some    hurtful  weakness,   some  infirmity  of  temper, 


THE    RANK    OF   WOMAN.  115 

which  will  mar  his  happiness  if  not  overcome  or  eradicated. 
But  the  good  she  expects  of  him  (besides  the  inestimable  good — 
which  is  his  as  well  as  hers — of  full  and  true  relations)  is  of  the 
external  material,  or  outward  kind,  to  the  securing  of  which  an 
energetic  body  and  brain,  a  brave  heart,  and  a  strong  arm,  are 
more  necessary  means  than  the  fine  spirituality,  the  aspiration, 
the  love  of  purity  and  beauty,  and  the  attraction  to  these  which, 
according  to  his  capacity  to  appreciate  them,  he  hopes  to  find  in 
her.  This  kind  of  good  high  natures  shrink  from  asking,  in  any 
manner,  of  another,  even  where  it  is  their  right  to  expect  it ; 
and  still  more,  feel  degraded  in  parading  or  discussing  at  any 
length.  It  is  a  shame  to  ask  bread  or  raiment ;  but  a  glory  and 
a  brightness  in  one's  day,  to  ask  for  spiritual  light  and  guidance. 

A  very  brief  reference  to  the  sentiment  of  man  toward 
woman  in  the  minor  forms  of  its  expression,  must  suffice  me 
here  ;  and  it  will  be  found  to  be  entirely  harmonious  with  that 
we  have  seen  in  the  major  one  of  Love. 

In  the  era  of  man's  ascendancy,  society,  because  of  his  sen- 
suality, has  been  too  gross,  and  the  standards,  therefore,  too  arbi- 
trary ;  the  forms  too  despotic  to  admit  the  existence,  except  very 
rarely,  of  simple  friendship  in  any  near,  living  warmth  between 
the  sexes.  For  the  same  reason,  its  open  acknowledgement  and 
cultivation  where  it  did  exist,  were  practical  social  impossibili- 
ties. It  is  only  within  a  few  years  that  there  could  be  found, 
anywhere  in  the  societies  of  which  we  can  get  knowledge,  cir- 
cles of  persons  who  could  hear  of  a  real  friendship — one  leading 
to  frank,  affectionate  and  interior  relations — between  a  woman 
and  man,  without  a  raising  of  the  eyebrows,  a  shrugging  of  the 
shoulders,  a  sidelong  glance  of  unbelief.  Women,  wTho,  know- 
ing their  own  natures,  could  of  themselves  have  had  faith  in  it, 
surrendered  their  judgment  to  the  suspicion  or  disbelief  which 
men  created  everywhere  about  them,  and  infused  through  the 
social  atmosphere.  Hence,  they  shrunk  from  permitting  or 
acknowledging  relations  which  would  subject  themselves  to  such 
criticism  ;  and  hence,  too,  there  is  little  to  be  found,  even  in  per- 
sonal history,  that  shows  the  existence  of  such  attachments. 
Man,  in  his  passional  life,  being  sensual,  as  distinguished  from 
woman,  who  is  spiritual ;  and  intersexual  friendship  being  that 


116 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


relation  which  calls  for  the  frank  and  warm  exercise  toward  its 
object,  of  whatever  capacities  for  attachment  the  nature  pos- 
sesses, save  those  which  are  sacred  and  exclusive  to  the  high 
relation  of  love,  there  have  been  as  yet  but  few  examples  of  its 
brightest  and  most  beneficent  existence.  Of  these,  fewer  still 
have  been  permitted  to  appear  before  the  world's  eye,  or  pass  to 
record  in  the  memory  of  the  lives  they  blessed; — so  that  this 
relation  of  men  and  women,  which  is  destined  to  become,  in  the 
purer  and  higher  era  of  Female  Ascendancy,  one  of  the  ocmmon, 
most  helpful  and  valued  experiences  of  mankind,  has  been  hith- 
erto a  rare  phenomenon.  But  even  so,  we  find  here  and  there 
a  life  brightened  by  it.  Can  any  person  doubt,  for  example, 
that  Mrs.  Thrall's  friendship  for  Dr.  Johnson  was  a  gracious  and 
softening  influence  falling  upon  that  rigid,  inflexible  nature  of 
his  ?  Can  any  one  read  the  letters  of  Cowper  to  or  about  Mrs. 
Nuwin,  without  feeling  how  invaluable  her  cheerful,  tranquil, 
self-sustained  and  sustaining  affection  must  have  been  to  his  mor- 
bid, suffering  soul  ?  On  all  the  levels  of  private  life,  where  one 
can  gather  the  inner  soul-experience  of  people,  how  often  good 
men  acknowledge  themselves  to  have  been  essentially  helped  by 
women  who  were  only  their  friends  !  How  many  men  one  hears, 
in  the  various  moods  which  lead  them  to  self-disclosure,  declar- 
ing that  in  this  or  that  strait  or  difficulty,  now  perhaps  long  past 
— when  they  were  disheartened,  broken  in  spirit,  ill  in  body,  or 
anguish-stricken  from  loss  of  fortune,  or  disappointment  in  love, 
or  the  utter  frustration  of  hopes  they  had  been  building  or  rest- 
ing in — some  sympathetic,  tender,  thoughtful  woman  spoke  to 
them  the  needed  word  of  encouragement ;  put  new  strength  into 
their  souls  ;  presented  to  them  the  silvery  lining  of  the  dark, 
overshadowing  clouds ;  and,  in  short,  fitted  them  anew  for 
struggle. 

How  often  are  men  arrested,  after  years  of  profligacy,  degra- 
dation and  crime,  by  the  vivid  memory  of  a  mother,  a  sister,  or 
early  friend,  whose  appeal  had  been  strong  to  their  better  na- 
ture ;  or  by  the  sudden  presence  before  them  of  such  an  one  ! 
He  whom  a  father  or  brother's  face  and  voice  would  instantly 
challenge  and  put  upon  his  self-defence,  feels  in  a  good  woman 
who  approaches  him  a  fountain  of  tenderness  and  compassion, 


THE   RANK    OF   WOMAN.  117 

which  disarms  him  of  his  hardness,  silences  the  self-justification 
or  the  cant  with  which  he  is  ever  prepared  to  meet  men,  and 
makes  him  yearn  in  heart  for  the  fitness  he  once  had  to  mingle 
with  those  purer  lives. 

'  Woman  is  called  an  angel  of  purity  and  wisdom  to  the  sin- 
ful and  ignorant ;  an  angel  of  innocence  among  the  corrupt  and 
depraved ;  an  angel  of  peace  among  the  discordant  and  fierce ; 
an  angel  of  mercy  in  times  of  suffering — as  in  pestilence  and 
wars  ;  of  harmony  in  music  of — motion  in  the  dance.  All  forms, 
these,  of  expressing  the  sentiment  which  man  entertains  of  her 
fitness  to  diviner  uses  in  these  relations  of  life  than  naturally  be- 
long to  him. 

"  Whatever  I  am,"  said  Dr.  Spurzheim,  "  I  owe  to  my  excel- 
lent mother — to  her  cherishing  tenderness — her  pure  examples — 
her  faithful  and  judicious  care  of  my  infancy  and  childhood." 
La  Martine  acknowledges  the  like  obligation  to  his  mother, 
especially  for  the  culture  of  the  deep,  living  tenderness  of  spirit 
which  is  diffused  throughout  his  works.  Mrs.  Hemans  declares 
that  the  truest,  most  sustaining,  helpful  and  sympathetic  friend 
she  ever  had,  was  her  mother  ;  and  Margaret  Fuller  writes  to  her 
mother  these  words  :  "  The  thought  of  you,  the  knowledge  of 
your  angelic  nature,  is  always  one  of  my  great  supports.  Hap- 
py those  who  have  such  a  mother  !  Myriad  instances  of  selfish- 
ness and  corruption  of  heart  cannot  destroy  the  confidence  in 
human  nature." 

"  I  must  in  justice  admit,"  says  one  of  the  purest  and  most 
gifted  men  1  ever  knew,  "  that  I  am  deeply  indebted  to  every 
pure  woman  that  I  have  ever  been  acquainted  with.  All  that 
I  have  ever  learned  of  true  love  I  have  derived  from  woman — 
from  feeling  the  sphere,  that  surrounds  her,  from  the  influence 
that  emanates  from  her  love,  from  hearing  the  sound  of  pure 
affection  in  the  music  of  her  voice,  and  the  harmonizing  melody 
of  her  words  ;  from  seeing  the  heavenly  love  and  purity  of  her 
countenance,  and  the  angelic  grace  of  her  form  and  actions  ;  and 
above  all,  from  a  knowledge  of  her  internal  life,  and  from  com- 
munion with  her  pure,  lofty,  generous,  heroic  spirit." 

I  could  go  on  to  fill  pages  with  quotations  or  statements  con- 
veying the  same  meaning,  but  these  must  suffice  me  here.     Be- 


118  THE    HESPERIAN. 


fore  taking  leave,  however,  of  this  branch  of  the  subject,  I  must 
beg  the  reader's  indulgence  in  the  repetition  here  of  what  has 
been  said  in  substance  elsewhere,  viz. :  that  the  sentiment  of  Man 
toward  Woman,  as  we  have  seen  it,  is  founded,  as  the  sentiment 
of  all  other  intelligences  in  the  Universe,  whether  they  be  super 
or  sub-human,  must  be,  upon  the  actual,  imperishable,  though 
perhaps  long-hidden,  truths  of  the  nature  toward  which  they 
exist.  There  is  no  durable,  wide-spread  sentiment  like  this, 
anywhere  in  the  Creation,  but  must  have  its  basis  in  a  truth  or 
truths,  which  are  intuitively  felt  if  not  yet  analysed  by  reason 
and  weighed  in  the  scales  of  knowledge.  It  is  forbidden  in  na- 
ture that  mere  falsity  or  error  should  originate  or  sustain  such  a 
growth. 

[To  be  continued.] 


OH!    LEAVE    ME    IN    THE    MORNING. 


BY   ANNE   K.    H.   FADER. 


Oh !  leave  me  in  the  morning,  friend, 

If  you  must  go  at  all, 
And  do  not  wait  till  evening  shades 

In  sadness  round  us  fall. 

Here  is  my  hand — you  cannot  know 
How  much  it  grieves  my  heart, 

To  feel  the  loved,  the  true,  and  tried, 
By  chance  or  death  must  part. 

Oh !  life  on  earth,  why  is  it  so, 
That  this  must  be  our  doom — 

Our  human  flowers  must  drop  their  leaves 
Ere  half  they  learn  to  bloonv: 

But  we'll  not  waste  what  time  is  ours, 
Nor  scorn  the  blessings  given  ; 

But,  parting,  hope  to  meet  on  earth, 
Or  strive  to  meet  in  Heaven. 

Though  wildly  now  my  shrinking  heart 

Calls  out  for  you  to  stay  ; 
Yet  leave  me  in  the  morning,  friend, 
If  you  must  go  away. 
San  Franqisco,  April,  1862. 


THE  POOR  GIRL  AND  THE  ANGELS. 


"  Sleep,   saintly  poor  one  !  sleep,   sleep  on, 
And  waking,  find  thy  labor  done." — C.  LAMB. 

We  never  remember  seeing  any  notice  of  the  dear  old  legend  we 
are  about  to  relate,  save  in  some  brief  and  exquisite  lines  of 
Charles  Lamb,  and  yet  how  simply  and  quaintly  it  confirms  our 
childhood's  faith,  when  Heaven  seemed  so  much  nearer  to  earth 
than  it  has  been  ever  since,  and  we  verily  believe  that  the  angels 
watched  over  the  good  and  pure  of  heart. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  in  a  far  off  country  place,  the 
name  of  which  has  long  since  passed  into  oblivion,  a  young  girl, 
whom  we  shall  call  Alice,  with  an  aged  and  bed-ridden  mother, 
dependent  upon  her  exertion  for  their  sole  support.  And  al- 
though all  periods  they  fared  hardly  enough,  and  sometimes 
wanted  for  bread,  Alice  never  suffered  herself  to  be  cast  down, 
placing  her  whole  trust  in  Him  who  "  tempers  -the  wind  to  the 
shorn  lamb."  And  when  better  days  came  again,  who  so  glad 
and  thankful  as  that  poor  girl  ? 

It  may  be  all  very  pretty  and  picturesque  for  poets  and  artists 
to  picture  to  themselves  calm,  peaceful  scenes  of  rural  loveliness, 
in  the  foreground  of  which  they  generally  place  some  happy  vil- 
lage maid,  sitting  in  the  cottage  porch  at  the  sunset  hour,  and 
singing  merrily  at  her  wheel ;  even  as  bright-eyed  and  glad- 
hearted  damsels  of  our  own  times  take  up  their  sewing  only  as  a 
pleasant  excuse  to  be  silent  and  alone,  that  they  may  indulge  in 
sweet  and  gentle  musing.  But  let  us  not  forget  that  that  which 
is  a  pastime  to  the  few  may  be  to  the  many  a  weary  and  never 
ending  toil,  engrossing  the  day  that  seems  so  long ;  and  yet  it  is 
not  half  long  enough  for  all  they  have  to  do,  breaking  into  the 
quiet  hours  set  apart  by  Nature  for  rest,  and  mingling  with  their 
troubled  dreams. 

Thus  it  was  oftentime  with  our  poor  heroine. 

And  yet  she  sang,  too,  but  generally  hymns,  for  such  sprang 
most  readily  to  her  lips,  and  seemed  most  in  harmony  with  her 
lonely  and  toilsome  life,  while  her  aged  mother  would  lie  for 
hours  listening  to  what  seemed  to  her  as  a  gush  of  sweet,  prayer- 


120 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


ful  music,  and  not  questioning  but  the  songs  of  the  good  upon 
earth  might  be  heard  and  echoed  by  the  angels  in  heaven.  Poor 
child  !  it  was  sad  to  see  thee  toil  so  hard,  but  beautiful  to  mark 
thy  filial  devotion  and  untiring  love — thy  thankfulness  to  have 
the  work  to  do,  otherwise  both  must  have  starved  long  since,  thy 
trust  in  Providence,  that  for  her  sake,  He  would  give  thee  strength 
for  thy  laborious  tasks;  the  hope  that  would  not  die,  of  better 
times ;  the  faith  that  grew  all  the  brighter  and  purer  through 
trials ;  the  store  of  sweet  &nd  pure  thoughts  that  brought  thee 
such  pleasant  comfort,  and  gave  wings  to  many  a  weary  hour  of 
earthly  toil. 

For  a  year  Alice  had  contrived  to  lay  by  enough  to  pay  the 
rent  of  their  little  cottage,  ready  against  the  period  when  it  should 
become  due,  but  now  either  from  the  widow's  long  illness  or  the 
hardness  of  the  times,  which  ever  presses,  in  seasons  of  national 
or  commercial  difficulty,  most  heavily  upon  those  least  able  to 
bear  up  against  its  additional  weight,  the  day  came  round  and 
found  her  unprepared.  It  so  happened  that  the  old  landlord  was 
dead,  and  his  successor,  one  of  those  stern  men  who,  without 
being  actually  heart-hearted,  or  even  stingy,  have  a  peculiar  creed 
of  their  own  with  regard  to  the  poor,  which  they  are  never  weary 
of  repeating,  holding  poverty  to  be  but  another  name  for  idle- 
ness, or  even  crime  ;  but  yet  even  he  was  touched  by  her  tears 
and  meek,  deprecating  words,  and  consented  to  give  her  a  week's 
grace,  in  Avhich  she  reckoned  to  have  finished  and  got  paid  for 
wo  rk  which  she  then  had  in  the  house.  And  although  the  girl 
knew  that,  in  order  to  effect  this,  she  must  work  day  and  night ; 
she  dared  no  longer  delay,  and  was  even  grateful  to  him  for 
granting  her  request. 

"  It  will  be  a  lesson  to  her  not  to  be  behind-hand  in  future," 
thought  her  stern  companion,  when  he  found  himself  alone ; 
"  no  doubt  the  girl  has  been  idling  of  late,  or  spending  money 
on  that  pale-colored  hood  she  wore,  (although,  sooth  to  say, 
nothing  could  have  been  more  becoming  to  her  delicate  com- 
plexion),  instead  of  having  it  ready,  as  usual."  And  yet,  sleep- 
ing or  waking,  her  grateful  thanks  haunted  him  strangely,  almost 
winning  him  to  gentler  thoughts — we  say  almost,  for  deep-rooted 
prejudices  such  as  his,  were  hard,  very  hard,  to  overcome. 

Alice  returned  home  with  a  light  heart. 


THE   POOR   GIRL   AND   THE   ANGELS.  121 

* 

"  Well,"  said  the  widow,  anxiously. 

"  All  right,  mother ;  with  G-od's  blessing  we  will  yet  keep  the 
dear  old  cottage  in  which  you  tell  me  you  were  born." 

"And  hope  to  die." 

"  Not  yet — not  yet,  dear  mother,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  passion- 
ately. "  What  would  become  of  your  poor  Alice,  if  she  were  to 
lose  you?" 

"  And  yet  I  am  but  a  burden  on  your  young  life — " 

"ISTo,  no — a  blessing  rather!" 

Alice  was  right ;  labor  and  toil  only  ask  an  object — something 
to  love,  and  care,  and  work  for,  to  make  it  endurable,  and  even 
sweet.  And  then,  kissing  her  mother,  but  saying  not  a  word  of 
all  she  had  to  do,  the  girl  took  off  her  well-preserved  hood  and 
cloak  which  had  given  rise  to  such  unjust  animadversions,  and 
putting  them  carefully  aside,  sat  down  in  a  hopeful  spirit  to  the 
wheel.  The  dark  cloud  which  had  huns;  over  her  in  the  morn- 
ing,  seemed  already  breaking,  and  she  could  even  fancy  the  blue 
sky  again  in  the  distance. 

All  that  day  she  only  moved  from  her  work  to  prepare  their 
simple  meals,  or  wait  upon  the  helpless  but  not  selfish  invalid, 
who,  but  for  the  eyes  of  watchful  love  ever  bent  upon  her,  would 
have  striven  painfully  to  perform  many  a  little  duty  for  herself, 
rather  than  tax  those  willing  hands  always  so  ready  to  labor  in 
her  behalf. 

And  when  night  came,  fearing  to  cause  that  dear  mother 
needless  anxiety,  Alice  lay  down  quietly  by  her  side,  watching 
until  she  had  fallen  to  sleep,  and  then  returned  noiselessly  to  her 
endless  task.  And  yet,  somehow,  the  more  she  worked  the  more 
it  seemed  to  grow  beneath  her  weary  lingers  ;  the  real  truth  of 
the  matter  was,  she  had  overated  her  powers,  and  was  not  aware 
of  the  much  longer  time  it  would  take  for  the  completion  of  the 
labor  than  she  had  allowed  herself.  But  it  was  too  late  to  think 
of  all  this  now ;  the  trial  must  be  made,  and,  she  doubted  not, 
Heaven  would  srive  her  streno;th  to  go  through  with  it.  Oh  ! 
happy,  thrice  happy  are  they  who  have  deserved  to  possess  this 
pure  and  child-like  faith,  shedding  its  gentle  life. 

Morning  broke  at  length  over  the  distant  hills  ;  and,refreshed 
by  the  cool  breeze  and  gladdened  by  the  humming  of  the  birds, 


122  THE     HESPERIAN. 


already  up  and  at  their  orisons,  she  exchanged  a  kind  good  mor- 
row with  the  peasants. 

No  wonder  that  those  rough,  untutored  men,  gazing  upward 
on  her  pale,  calm  face,  and  listening  to  her  gentle  tones,  felt  a 
sort  of  superstitious  reverence  in  their  hearts,  as  though  there 
was  a  blessing  in  that  kindly  greeting  which  boded  of  good. 

The  widow  noticed,  with  that  quick-sigktedness  of  affection 
which  even  the  very  blind  seem  gifted  with  in  the  presence  of 
those  they  love,  that  her  child  looked,  if  possible,  a  thought  paler 
than  usual ;  and  for  all  the  bright  smile  that  met  hers  every  time 
that  Alice,  feeling  conscious  of  her  gaze,  looked  up  from  her 
work,  marked  how  wearily  the  heavy  eyelids  drooped  over  the 
aching  eyes  ;  and  yet  she  never  dreamed  of  the  deception  which 
had  been  practiced  in  love  to  soothe  and  allay  her  fond  anxiety  ; 
and  the  girl  was  well  content  that  it  should  be  so. 

It  so  happened  that,  about  noon,  as  she  sat  spinning  in  the 
cottage  porch,  the  new  landlord  passed  that  way  on  horseback, 
and  was  struck  with  her  sad  and  wearied  looks ;  for,  of  late,  she 
had  indeed  toiled  far  beyond  her  strength,  and  this  additional 
fatigue  was  almost  too  much  for  her.  Still  that  stern  old  man 
said  within  himself:  "it  is  ever  thus  with  the  poor;  they  work 
hard  when  actually  obliged  to  do  so,  and  it  is  a  just  punishment 
for  their  improvidence  and  idleness  at  other  times.  And  yet," 
he  added,  a  moment  after,  as  he  turned  his  horse's  head,  half 
lingeringly,  "  she  is  very  young,  too." 

Alice  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  retreating  footsteps,  but  too 
late  for  her  to  catch  that  half  relenting  glance,  or  it  might  have 
encouraged  her  to  ask  an  extension  of  the  time  allotted  her,  ay, 
even  if  it  were  but  one  single  day  !  But  he  had  passed  on  ere 
the  timid  girl  could  banish  from  her  mind  the  fearful  remem- 
brance of  his  former  harshness. 

Another  weary  day  and  sleepless  night  glided  on  thus,  and 
the  third  evening  found  her  still  at  the  spinning,  with  the  same 
smile  on  her  lips,  and  hope  and  trust  in  her  breast. 

"  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  to  help  you,  my  Alice  ?"  asked 
her  mother,  who  grieved  to  see  her  obliged  to  toil  so  hard. 

"  Nothing — unless  you  tell  me  some  tale  of  old  times,  as  you 
used  to  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  child." 

"  Why,  you  are  but  a  child  now,"  said  the  widow,  with  a 


THE   POOR   GIRL  AND   THE   ANGELS.  123 

mournful  smile  ;  and  then  inwardly  comparing  her  lot  with  that 
of  other  girls  of  the  same  age,  she  relapsed  into  a  train  of  sad  and 
silent  musings  ;  Alice  knew  that  they  were  sad  by  the  quivering 
lip  and  contracted  brow. 

"  Come,  mother,  dear,"  said  she,  "  I  am  waiting  to  hear  your 
story." 

And  then  the  widow  began  to  relate  some  simple  remines- 
censes  of  bygone  times,  possessing  a  strange  interest  for  that 
lonely  girl,  who  knew  so  little  of  life,  save  in  these  homely  and 
transient  revealings ;  falling  asleep  in  the  midst,  through  weari- 
ness— for  she  ever  grew  weak  and  exhausted  as  night  came  on — 
but  presently  awoke  again  half  bewildered. 

"  "Where  was  I,  Alice  V  asked  the  invalid,  gently. 

"  Asleep,  dear  mother,  I  was  in  hopes,"  replied  her  com- 
panion, with  a  smile. 

"  Oh  !  forgive  me  ;  I  could  not  help  it.  But  you  will  not  sit 
up  very  long?" 

"  'No,  good  night." 

"  Good  night,  and  God  bless  you,  my  child,"  said  the  widow  ; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  afterwards  Alice  was  again  the  only 
wakeful  thing  in  the  little  cottage — if,  indeed,  she  could  be 
called  so  with  her  half-closed  eyes  and  wandering  thoughts,  al- 
though it  is  true,  the  busy  fingers  toiled  on  mechanically  at  their 
task.  The  very  clock  ticked  with  a  dull,  drowsy  sound,  and  the 
perpetual  whizzing  of  her  wheel  seemed  almost  like  a  lullaby. 

Presently  the  girl  began  to  sing  in  a  low  voice,  in  order  to 
keep  herself  awake,  hymns  as  usual,  low,  plaintive  and  soothing ; 
while  the  widow  heard  them  in  her  sleep,  and  dreamed  of  heaven. 
But  all  would  not  do,  and  she  arose  at  length  and  walked  noise- 
lessly up  and  down  the  room,  trying  to  shake  off  the  drowsy 
feeling  that  oppressed  her  so  heavily.  And  then,  opening  the 
casement,  sat  by  it  to  catch  the  cool  breath  of  night  upon  her 
fevered  brow,  and  watch  the  myriad  stars  looking  down  in  their 
calm  and  silent  beauty  upon  earth.  How  naturally  prayer  comes 
at  such  times  as  these.  Alice  clasped  her  faded  hands  involun- 
tarily, and.  although  no  words  were  uttered,  her  heart  prayed  ! 
We  have  called  her,  in  our  love,  pure  and  innocent ;  but  she,  of 
her  holier  wisdom,  knew  that  she  was  but  a  weak  and  erring 
creature  after  all,  and  took  courage  only  from  remembering  that 


124 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


there  is  One  who  careth  even  for  the  very  flowers  of  the  field, 
and  how  much  more  for  the  children  of  earth.  But,  gradually, 
as  she  sat  thus  in  the  pale  starlight,  the  white  lids  dropped  over 
the  heavy  eyes,  her  hands  unclasped,  and  sank  slowly  and  list- 
lessly down ;  the  weary  and  toil-worn  frame  had  found  rest  at 
last. 

And  then  the  room  seemed  filled  on  a  sudden  with  a  strange 
brightness,  and  where  poor  Alice  had  sat  erstwhile  at  her  wheel, 
is  an  angel  with  shining  hair  and  raiment  white  and  radiant  as  a 
sunbeam,  while  another  bending  gently  over  the  slumberer,  and 
looking  first  at  her,  then  at  her  companion,  smiles  pityingly  ;  and 
the  girl  smiles,  too,  in  her  sleep  ;  and  as  if  still  haunted  by  her 
favorite  hymn  tunes,  sings  again,  very  faintly  and  sweetly,  until 
the  sounds  die  lingering  away  at  length,  upon  the  still  night  air. 
Fast  and  noiselessly  ply  these  holy  ones  at  their  love  task,  while 
the  whizzing  of  the  busy  wheel,  accompanied  by  a  gentle  rush- 
ing sound  as  of  wings,  alone  disturbed  the  profound  silence  of 
that  little  chamber.  And  now,  the  morning  broke  again  over 
the  earth,  and  their  mission  performed,  they  have  sped  away  to 
their  bright  home  rejoicingly. 

Alice  awoke  tremblingly  from  her  long  and  refreshing  slum- 
ber, thinking  how  she  must  work  doubly  hard  to  redeem  those 
lost  hours.  She  drew  her  wheel  towards  her,  she  looked  wildly 
at  it,  rubbing  her  eyes  to  be  sure  she  was  not  dreaming,  and  then 
gazed  around  the  quiet  apartment,  where  all  remained  just  as 
she  had  left  it ;  but  the  task — the  heavy  task  for  which  she  had 
marked  out  four  more  weary  days  and  nights  of  toil,  and  feared, 
even  then,  not  having  time  enough  to  complete  it — lay  ready 
finished  before  her  !  But,  after  a  little  time,  the  girl  ceased  to 
wonder,  for  remembering  to  whom  she  had  prayed  the  previous 
night,  guided  by  an  unerring  instinct,  knelt  down  and  poured  out 
her  full  heart  in  a  gushing  of  prayerful  thanksgiving  to  Heaven. 
And  we  can  almost  fancy  the  angels  standing  a  little  way  off, 
smiling  upon  each  other  and  on  her,  even  as  they  had  done  be- 
fore, and  rejoicing  at  their  own  work. 

We  are  told  in  the  legend,  that  from  that  hour  the  widow  and 
her  good  and  pious  child  never  knew  want  again.  It  may  be 
that  Alice's  employer  was  pleased  with  her  diligence  and  punc- 
tuality ;  or  the  stern  landlord,  shamed  out  of  his  prejudices  by 


LITTLE   BESSIE.  125 


the  unlooked  for  appearance  of  the  glowing  and  happy  face  of 
the  youthful  tenant,  three  days  before  the  appointed  time,  with 
the  money  ready,  and  many  grateful  thanks  besides,  for  what  she 
termed  his  kindness  in  waiting  so  long  for  it ;  or  there  was  a 
charm  in  that  web,  woven  by  bold  hands,  which  brought  Alice 
many  more  such  tasks,  with  better  payment  and  longer  time  to 
complete  them  in.  The  only  thing  that  makes  us  sad  in  this  sim- 
ple and  beautiful  legend  is,  that  the  age  of  such  miracles  should 
pass  away. 

And  yet,  fear  not,  ye  poor  and  suffering  children  of  toil !  Only 
be  gentle  and  pure-hearted  as  that  young  girl — trust  as  she  trust- 
ed— pray  as  she  prayed — and  be  sure  that  Heaven,  in  its  own  good 
time,  will  deliver  you? 


LITTLE   BESSIE. 


BY   MRS.   JAMES    NEAL. 


Over  Little  Bessie's  grave 
Glide  the  shadows  to  and  fro  ; 

Over  Little  Bessie's  grave 
Lightly  falls  the  winter  snow  ; 

And  the  whiteness  of  the  mould 

Seems  a  tablet  pure  and  cold. 

Once  I  saw  her  gentle  smile, 
And  I  thought  her  like  a  dove, 

Se.nt  from  out  her  ark  awhile, 
On  a  mission  brief  of  love  ; 

Only  tarrying  here  a  space — 

Earth  was  not  her  resting  place. 

How  we  miss  her  tiny  feet, 

Pacing  up  and  down  the  floors  ; 

Little  Bessie,  calm  and  sweet, 
Treadeth  Heaven's  corridors. 

Happy  now  for  evermore, 

With  our  angels,  gone  before. 


126  THE    HESPEKIAN. 


Over  Little  Bessie's  grave 

Still  the  shadows  come  and  go; 

Weeping  ones  who  mourn  her  loss, 
Would  she  did  not  lie  below: 

Bitter  'tis  indeed  to  part, 

With  one  tendril  of  the  heart. 

One  by  one  they  glide  away, 
All  the  earthly  joys  we  know, 

Evanescent  is  their  stay, 
As  upon  her  sod  the  snow. 

Yet  how  oft  renewed  their  bloom, 

Flowers  spring  beside  the  tomb. 

Ah  !  this  world  is  bright  and  fair, 
But  its  sweetest  garden  spots 

Lie  where  little  children  are 
Set  as  God's  "forget-me-nots." 

If  He  pluck  them  may  we  say 

"  Thou  gavest  and  Thou  tak'st  away." 

Then  when  shadows  come  and  go, 
O'er  our  hearts  as  o'er  her  sod, 

From  the  buried  hopes  below 
Shall  the  spirit  rise  to  God — 

As  sweet  Little  Bessie's  soul 

Beached  beyond  its  earthly  goal. 

Then  the  shadows  we  shall  see 

Gliding  ever  to  and  fro, 
Are  the  little  winged  ones, 

Who  have  left  us  here  below  ; 
And  their  mission  is  to  bear 
All  our  messages  of  prayer 

Upward  to  the  throne  of  Grace, 
For  "  their  Angels  do  behold 

Evermore  the  Father's  face." 
Ah  !  the  pet  lamb  of  our  fold 

Lieth  not  beneath  the  sod — 
Little  Bessie  is  with  God, 


The  eagle  would  be  starved  if  he  always  soared  aloft  against 
the  sun.  The  bird  of  wisdom  flies  low  and  seeks  her  food  under 
hedges. 


THE     CHEAP     DRESS-MAKER. 


BY   FANNY    GKEEN. 


With  a  feeling  of  deep  love  to  my  fellow  beings,  who  yet  occu- 
py false  positions  in  life,  these  sketches  are  submitted  to  the 
public  ;  and  if  the  attention  and  interest  of  even  a  few  of  such 
as  fill  the  more  fdrtunate  places  in  society,  may  be  arrested,  I 
shall  not  have  labored  in  vain.  To  the  hearts  of  such  as  are 
happy  in  all  the  social  and  domestic  relations — who,  blest  with 
competence,  or  the  power  of  pursuing  some  well-paid  avocation, 
are  placed  above  the  temptations  of  want,  I  commend  these 
stories  of  the  forlorn  outcast,  the  childless,  the  fatherless,  the 
brotherless,  the  poor,  and  the  sinning — who  have  either  borne 
up  against  the  storms  of  Fate,  until  everything  lovely  and  beau- 
tiful in  life  is  frittered  away  ;  or,  else,  finding  themselves  unequal 
to  the  conflict,  have  sunk  altogether — until,  perhaps,  urged  by 
want,  or  seduced  by  temptation,  they  have  turned  aside  from  the 
Right ;  and  so  have  lost  all  acknowledged  claim  to  the  favor  of  the 
good.  To  the  virtuous  I  appeal  in  behalf  of  these  last,  also.  It 
is  now  beginning  to  be  felt,  that  even  the  worst  specimens  of 
humanity  are  not  wholly  bad ;  and  the  Virtue  that  once  gath- 
ered up  her  spotless  robes,  and  shrunk  from  all  intercourse  with 
the  vicious — and  even  from  all  knowledge  of  that  most  unfortu- 
nate class — is  now  learning  the  better  lesson  of  inquiry,  whether, 
in  a  like  position,  with  like  temptations,  she  also  might  not  have 
fallen,  might  not  have  gone  even  farther  astray.  Such  inquiries 
are  necessary  and  wholesome  ;  and  they  almost  always  show  that 
society  has  somewhat  to  answer  for  in  these  transgressions — con- 
sequently, that  every  member  of  society  is  bound  by  a  solemn 
duty  to  inquire  into  the  causes,  and  do  as  much  as  in  him  lies-, 
for  the  discovery  and  application  of  the  true  remedy.  Nor  are 
these  investigations  always  entirely  without  pleasure,  as  well  as 
profit ;  since  it  often  happens  that  shining  examples  of  Truth  and 
Virtue  are  found  adorning  the  waste  places  of  human  life — flow- 
ers of  the  desert,  that  flourish  under   the  most  adverse  circum- 


128  THE   HESPERIAN. 


stances,  putting  forth  their  wondrous  beauty  to  adorn  the  arid 
bosom  that  so  scantily  nurtures  them. 

I  give  these  stories  as  Facts  ;  and  if  the  skeptic  should  feel 
disposed  to  scoff  at  the  means  by  which  they  became  known  to 
me,  let  him  go  into  the  crowded  lanes,  and  wretched  alleys,  of 
any  of  our  large  cities- — let  him  look  into  the  heart  of  the  ine- 
briate's wife — of  the  widowed  mother — of  the  desolate  orphan 
— of  the  poor  sick  father,  when  he  divides  the  last  crust  among 
the  famished  group  of  his  motherless  children  ; — and  without 
the  aid  of  the  mesmerizer,  he  may  find  their  parallels. 

I  give  the  sketches  entire,  with  no  important  alterations  from 
the  original  papers,  that  were  always  penned  immediately  after 
the  Claire-voyance,  before  any  important  fact  had  escaped  the 
memory,  or  the  first  vivid  impressions  had  faded  from  the  mind. 

It  may  be  well  here  to  state  the  reasons  which  first  induced 
me  to  yield  myself  a  subject  to  the  magnetic  influence.  I  had 
been  for  months  afflicted  with  a  grievous  malady,  which,  with 
very  slight  intermissions  of  repose,  rendered  life  so  miserable, 
that  my  daily  and  hourly  prayer  was  for  immediate  death.  In 
this  way  I  continued  to  drag  along  the  weary  load  of  life,  until 

Dr.  C ,  a  distinguished  magnetizer,  came  to  the  little  village 

where  I  resided.  I  had  heard  something  of  the  effects  of  this 
Panacea,  which  is  put  into  the  hands  of  men  for  the  great  pur- 
pose of  healing  ;  but  I  had  no  faith  that  means  so  simple  could 
reach  a  case  so  desperate  as  mine ;  and  therefore  took  no  pains 
to  see  a  mesmerizer,  though  it  often  happened  that  one  came  to 
our  neighborhood.  But  my  brother  had  more  knowledge,  and 
more  intelligence  on  the  subject,  than  I ;  and  hearing  that  Dr. 
C was  at  the  village,  he  invited  him  to  visit  me. 

There  are  periods  in  the  life  of  every  human  being,  if  they 
were  only  treated  with  the  attention  which  they  deserve,  when 
the  Spiritual  overpowers  the  Sensual,  or  the  Ideal  passes  into  the 
Actual,  and  we  feel  that  the  interposing  veil  between  Soul  and 
Sense  is  drawn  aside  by  some  invisible  hand,  while  glimpses  of 
truth  are  let  in  upon  the  mind,  with  an  intensity  and  power  to 
which  a  palpable  testimony  could  add  nothing.  And  yet  this 
light  reaches  not  the  bodily  eye.     It  was,  perhaps,  but  a  mo- 


THE    CHEAP    DKESS-MAKER.  129 

mentary  flash ;  and,  before  we  could  say  it  was  there,  it  had 
gone  ;  yet  we  feel  its  monition  with  a  degree  of  certainty,  which 
acknowledges  no  error — which  admits  of  no  deception.  So  it 
was  when  I  first  beheld  my  deliverer,  looking  upon  me  with  his 
large  hazel  eyes,  so  bright,  so  gentle,  and  so  true,  that,  as  I  gazed 
into  them,  I  felt  that  they  had,  indeed,  opened  to  me  living  wells 
of  hope.  He  was  standing  by  my  bed  ;  and,  though  but  a  mo- 
ment before  I  had  cried  out  in  my  anguish,  praying  that  the  par- 
oxysm, with  which  I  was  then  struggling,  would  prove  itself 
effectual  and  final,  I  stretched  out  my  hand  to  him  in  the  fullest 
confidence  of  relief.  I  think  he  perceived  my  faith ;  for  he  sat 
down  at  once,  and,  taking  my  hands,  began  to  mesmerize  me. 
In  a  few  moments  I  was  perfectly  calm  and  tranquil. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  even  a  shadow  of  my  delight, 
when  the  almost  unmitigated  anguish  of  months  first  subsided 
into  one  delicious  moment  of  pure  and  perfect  ease.  Ease  ! 
Who  can  measure  the  deep  and  joyful  meaning  of  that  little 
word,  but  the  sufferer  who  has  been  stretched  upon  the  rack  of 
pain,  until  torture  had  become  a  daily  habit  of  life  ?  Poets 
have  sung  of  Elysium,  and  the  Inspired  have  chanted  divine 
songs  of  Heaven  ;  but  if  their  strains  could  give  expression  to 
the  first  intense  consciousness  of  relief  from  long-protracted  and 
bitter  suffering,  they  would  have  a  deeper  melody  than  human 
tongue  ever  yet  hath  uttered — a  deeper  joy  than  human  art  ever 
portrayed.  In  that  moment,  the  single  idea  of  EEst  contains 
within  itself  the  very  essence  and  concentration  of  all  felicity. 
And  then,  in  the  reaction,  when  the  blessing  has  proved  itself  a 
substantial  reality,  the  whole  heart  is  penetrated  to  its  inmost,  by 
one  all-pervading,  grateful  thought — and  every  fibre,  every  nerve, 
which  had  almost  become  torpid  in  the  unequal  struggle,  sudden- 
ly recovers  more  than  its  wonted  vigor  and  sensibility ;  and  the 
soul  is  elevated  to  a  pitch  of  joy,  of  wonder,  and  of  love,  which 
only  the  suffering  human  can  feel,  and  which  must  far  transcend 
the  calm  pleasures  of  unsuffering  angels. 

But,  not  to  dwell  on  these  points,  in  less  than  one  month  I  was 
cured  of  my  disease,  while,  at  the  same  time,  a  habit  of  magnetic 
sleep,  and   clairevoyance,  was  induced,  the  results  of  which  will 
be  seen  in  the  following  papers. 
3 


130 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


In  one  of  those  miserable  attics  that  overlook  crowded  courts, 
where  the  poor  swarm  by  hundreds,  sat  a  fair  young  girl,  busily 
plying  her  needle.  Her  face  was  much  swollen,  as  if  from  the 
effect  of  long  and  violent  weeping,  which  had  now  subsided  into 
an  expression  of  sorrow,  so  calm,  so  silent,  and  so  deep,  it  was 
even  more  distressing  to  look  upon,  than  the  most  violent  par- 
oxysms of  grief;  for  it  was  unnatural  in  one  so  young,  and  was, 
of  itself,  evidence  of  a  discipline  that  might  have  broken  meaner 
hearts,  and  had  only  not  broken  hers. 

The  angels  of  love  and  mercy  sometimes  walk  about  in  dis- 
guises, wearing  the  garb  of  sorrow  ;  and  in  the  spirit  of  the  beau- 
tiful scripture,  "  God  tempereth  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,"  the 
trial  is  always  measured  by  the  strength,  so  that  the  highest 
amount  of  good  may  be  wrought  out  of  the  conflict.  Only 
through  suffering,  may  the  human  soul  reach  its  sublimest,  its 
divinest  power  ;  and  yet  it  knows  not  its  angel,  nor  perceives  the 
strength  it  is  acquiring — nor  catches  a  glimpse  of  that  day  afar 
off,  when  the  softening  thorns  shall  be  annealed  into  buds  of  fair- 
est promise,  and  the  unfolding  darkness  glow  with  the  inbeaming 
light  it  had  long  embosomed.  Meanwhile,  the  eyes  may  be  red 
with  weeping,  and  the  heart,  wrung  with  the  bitterest  anguish, 
may  measure  all  the  Future  by  the  Past ;  yet  ncme  the  less  surely 
cometh  its  redemption. 

I  saw  that  the  eyes  were  frequently  turned  towards  a  darkened- 
corner  of  the  room ;  and  looking  there,  I  beheld  the  cause  of  the 
poor  girls  distress.  A  dead  body,  decently  prepared  for  the 
grave,  was  lying  there  on  a  low  cot,  sleeping  the  last  sleep,  in  the 
calm  quietude  of  long-denied  repose.  Looking  through  the  shade 
that  covered  the  face,  I  perceived  it  was  the  body  of  a  female ; 
and  from  the  apparent  age,  and  strong  resemblance  to  the  girl 
before  me,  I  knew  it  was  her  mother.  Here,  then,  in  these  two 
facts,  was  a  whole  history  of  suffering,  such  as  is  seldom  in- 
wrought with  human  destiny.  Strangers,  and  friendless  they 
were,  or  those  kind  attentions  that  come  to  the  homes  of  the  poor- 
est, had  not  been  wanting  on  this  mournful  occasion.  Poor  they 
were,  or  the  desolate  mourner  would  not  now  be  pressing  down 
clown  the  heart-heaviness  that  almost  choked  her,  and  caring  for 
her  work,  when  she  should  have  been  watching  beside  the  dear 


THE    CHEAP    DEESS-MAKEB.  131 

form,  so  soon  to  be  lost  to  her  on  earth  forever.  She  had  ex- 
pended all  her  small  earnings  in  procuring  comforts  for  her  sick 
parent,  and  in  paying  the  last  rites  of  love  and  duty.  Indeed,  it 
had  been  many  weeks  since  she  had  earned  all  their  mutual  sup- 
port ;  and  for  months  her  mother  could  do  little  to  eke  out  their 
small  pittance  of  the  coarsest  fare.  For  some  time,  the  duties  of 
a  nurse  had  been  superadded  to  her  other  labors.  Her  work, 
however,  had  been  hardly  suspended  during  the  night;  and  often, 
in  her  sweet  spirit,  she  blessed  God  that  she  had  something  to 
care  for ;  for  when  she  thought  of  her  mother,  the  stealthy  sleep, 
that  would,  sometimes  steal  upon  her  heavy  lids,  was  frightened 
away — her  weary  eyes  looked  clearly  out  from  the  gathering  film, 
and  she  would  lift  the  work  that  had  fallen  from  her  overwrought 
hands,  and  go  on  again  briskly ;  for  how,  else,  could  they  have 
lived?  It  is  wonderful  to  think  of,  what  human  strength  can  en- 
dure, when  nerved  by  the  affections  !  E"ow  she  must  finish  the 
piece  of  work  she  held,  before  she  could  even  have  bread  ;  for  I 
knew  by  the  faint  and  sick  look  towards  an  empty  cupboard,  that 
she  was,  even  then,  hungry.  There  she  sat,  alone,  in  the  cham- 
ber of  death — scene  of  all  the  bitter  struggles  and  the  final  change 
— and  all  so  fresh  upon  her  memory,  struggling  against  the  bit- 
terness of  her  great  sorrow — with  no  single  word  of  consolation 
— no  look  of  sympathy,  or  love,  from  any  dear  familiar  face — un- 
til the  silence  smote  upon  her  heart ;  and  the  nervous  snap  of  the 
quickly  drawn  thread,  and  the  light  chink  of  the  meeting  thim- 
ble and  needle,  coming  out  in  relief,  as  it  were,  against  the  deep 
stillness,  had  a  frightful  sound — as  if  the  unnatural  Necessity  were 
conscience-stricken,  and  crying  out  against  itself. 

I  watched  her  with  intense  interest,  as  she  still  wrought  on. 
The  sleeves  were  stitched  and  inserted  ;  but  the  hooks  and  eyes, 
that  most  trying  part  of  the  dress  to  one  nervously  agitated,  fre- 
quently got  entangled  with  each  other,  or  fell  from  her  trembling 
hand,  that  almost  refused  to  do  its  office — ere  they  were  com- 
pletely sewed  on  ;  and  the  gathering  thread  of  the  over-full  skirt 
— for  ladies  must  have  full  skirts,  though  the  poor  maker  die  of 
starvation  before  the  far  round  is  circumnavigated — broke  several 
times,  occasioning  her  much  temporary  distress. 

"What  a  lesson  is  here,  I  said  within  myself,  for  the  gay,  the 


132  THE   HESPERIAN. 


thoughtless,  the  rich,  the  extravagant,  the  penurious.  The  be- 
reaved Fashionables  have  all  their  dear  five  hundred  friends  to 
make  arrangements — to  order  mourning  of  the  latest  and  most 
becoming  styles — and,  even  while  they  are  trying  on  their  new 
sables,  to  whisper  softly  in  their  ears,  that  no  loss  had  ever  been 
like  theirs — no  human  family  was  ever  so  tried  before.  And  then 
they  criticise  the  garments,  and  pronounce  upon  the  fits,  and  cal- 
culate upon  the  general  effect  of  the  whole  scene.  Almost  all 
have  some  comfort  at  such  times.  Few  there  are  so  desolate  that 
no  human  being  conies  to  share  and  alleviate  their  sorrow.  This 
young  girl  is  one ;  and  yet  her  rare  beauty,  her  gentleness,  her 
sweetness,  should  have  won  many  hearts  to  share  the  great  load 
that  was  pressing  so  heavily  upon  hers :  and  such  would  have 
been  the  case  anywhere  but  in  a  large  and  selfish  city,  where 
suspicion  is  cherished  as  a  virtue,  and  a  poor  stranger  is  treated 
as  an  enemy.  She  is  bereaved  of  her  only  friend  ;  and  yet  she 
has  no  time  to  think  of  it.  She  must  sit  here,  alone,  and  think 
only  of  her  work,  if  that  were  possible  ;  for  she  is  so  poor  that  the 
very  tears  which  nature  craves  are  not  permitted  ;  and  the  indul- 
gence of  her  sorrow  is  among  the  luxuries  she  cannot  afford.  She 
may  not  have  one  day — no,  not  one  hour  of  undisturbed  regret ; 
but  the  terrible  necessity  obtrudes  itself,  even  into  the  hallowed 
chamber  of  death.  She  must  work  even  there,  with  her  weary 
eyes  almost  blinded  by  protracted  watchings,  and  burning  for  the 
tears  that  might  not  flow  to  cool  them — faint  from  long  fasting — 
in  the  first  heart-sickness  of  her  bereavement — with  the  last,  low, 
gurgling  words  of  the  departed  yet  ringing  in  her  ears — with  the 
last  cold  kiss  yet  moist  upon  her  cheek — and  the  last  awful  strug- 
gle belonging,  as  it  were,  to  the  present — still  she  must  work ! 
But  an  hour  ago,  and  that  voice,  which  had  been  the  very  music 
of  her  life,  had  spoken  to  her  sweet  words  of  comfort,  of  blessing, 
and  of  hope ;  now  she  might  not  pause  to  think  it  was  hushed  for 
ever ;  for  the  work  might  be  ill-done,  and  she  might  lose  even  her 
poor  employment — she  might  starve,  or  be  thrust  of  her  dire  ne- 
cessity into  the  arms  of  the  spoiler.  And  those  dear  eyes  that 
had  shone  upon  her  short  life,  familiar  stars  of  love,  from  whose 
sweet  heart-beams  she  had  never 'wandered  for  a  single  day — still 
sustaining,  still  cheering  her — shining  still  through  the  blackest 
depths  of  want  and  misery — had  looked  upon  her  but  a  moment 


THE    CHEAP    DRESS-MAKER.  133 

since,  with,  all  their  fulness  of  unutterable  love.  How,  she  could 
not  pause  to  think  they  would  look  upon  her  no  more  forever,  in 
all  this  weary  earth-pilgrimage ;  for  the  thread  might  be  drawn 
away,  or  be  insecure  in  the  fastening  ;  or  the  finishing  would  be 
imperfect ;  so  she  would  lose  the  opportunity  of  making  dresses  at 
twenty-five  cents,  a  price  for  which  her  charitable  employer  re- 
ceived one  dollar.  I  had  seen  much  of  human  suffering.  I  had 
often  been  present  in  the  chamber  of  death ;  but  I  never  saw 
aught  like  this. 

At  length  the  work  was  finished,  and  nicely  folded.  The  frag- 
ments were  gathered  together,  and  the  shreds  carefully  picked 
from  the  faded  rag  carpet,  that  no  want  of  neatness  might  dis- 
honor the  memory  of  one,  who  I  knew  by  every  token  in  that 
humble  room,  had  been  an  example  of  order,  and  had  educated 
her  child  in  that  same  beautiful  principle  of  the  Divine  Mind. 

She  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  took  up  the  bundle.  She  was 
going  to  carry  the  dress  home ;  but  no  ;  not  yet ;  poor  as  she  is, 
she  must  have  one  moment  for  her  tears  ;  or  her  heart-strings  will 
really  burst  with  their  great  tension.  The  bundle  was  laid  hesi- 
tatingly down,  and  the  bonnet  thrown  aside.  She  approached 
the  bed  and  paused,  as  if  longing,  yet  almost  fearing,  to  uncover 
that  placid  face,  whose  calmness  mocked  her  own  distracted 
thoughts ;  for  she  durst  not  trust  herself  with  the  full  indulgence 
of  her  sorrow,  lest  some  duty  should  be  neglected.  She  looked 
around  the  room — adjusted  more  neatly  the  faded  curtains  and 
arranged  in  their  several  places  the  neatly-kept  but  defaced 
wooden  chairs.  Then  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done.  She 
went  to  the  bed  with  a  firmer  step  than  before  ;  and,  drawing 
the  lawn  away  from  the  still  face,  she  brought  a  chair  opposite, 
and  sat  down.  ISTo  tear  fell.  No  muscle  stirred.  There  was 
something  terrible  in  that  deep,  voiceless,  motionless  expression  of 
grief,  that  moved  me  as  no  other  form  of  sorrow  ever  did. 

The  girl  could  not  have  been  more  than  seventeen ;  and  her 
appearance  was  even  more  childlike  than  usually  prevails  at  that 
age  ;  but  she  had  a  strange  beauty  that  is  peculiar  to  the  gifted 
children  of  the  poor  where  suffering  has  developed  a  prematurity 
of  character,  and  a  wild  spiritual  light  is  diffused  over  the  whole 
being,  reflected  from  scenes  without  and  beyond  the  Present — 


134  THE     HESPERIAN. 


showing  the  strong  tendency  of  the  cramped  and  trammeled  hu- 
man soul  to  transcend  its  unnatural  position. 

The  small  thin  hands  were  clasped  together  ;  the  silken-fring- 
ed eyelids  rested  on  the  transparent  cheek ;  the  delicate,  but 
rounded  outline  of  the  form  was  bowed  down ;  and  the  sun-tinged 
rings  of  her  luxuriant  flaxen  hair,  fell  over  a  neck  and  shoulders 
of  faultless  beauty. 

Presently  she  drew  close  to  the  bed.  She  knelt  beside  it, 
hiding  her  face  in  the  thin  drapery.  Then  the  unnatural  tension 
gave  way,  and  she  sobbed — O,  how  fearfully  !  and  the  slight  bed 
shook  with  her  convulsive  throes. 

"O,  mother!"  she  cried,  "is  it,  indeed,  true,  that  you  are 
dead  ?  Will  they  take  you  away ;  and  will  you  never  come  back 
to  me  again? — never,  mother!  never!  I  have  thought  much  of 
this,  even  long  ago ;  but  I  never  dreamed  before  how  cruel  it 
would  be  !  Have  you  left  me — have  you,  mother,  left  me  forever, 
in  this  great  world,  alone  f  " 

A  shiver  passed  over  her  slight  form  as  she  uttered  this ;  and 
for  a  moment,  articulation  was  lost  in  low  broken  sobs. 

Again  her  voice  broke  forth — "  Who  shall  I  have  to  care  for, 
and  love,  now?  Who  will  nurse  me  when  I  am  sick?  Who  will 
comfort  me?  And  when  everybody  else  frowns  upon  me,  who 
will  smile,  as  you  always  did  ?  O,  mother !  You  are  dead,  and 
I  am  living — living,  mother,  when  there  is  nothing  to  live  for ; 
and  it  would  be  such  a  joy  to  die !" 

After  a  short  pause,  she  added,  with  a  shudder — "  Who  will 
now  protect  me  from  the  wicked  ?  Can  I,  indeed,  live  without 
you?  O,  that  I  might  lie  down,  this  moment,  and  sleep  beside 
you !  " 

"A  pleasant  bed-fellow  you  propose  to  yourself,  truly,  fair 
Ellen  Everett!"  was  spoken  in  tones  half  jocular,  half-pitiful, 
by  a  young  man  who  had  entered  the  room.  The  intruder  was 
tall  and  singularly  elegant,  in  appearance,  combining  a  high  in- 
tellectual character,  with  the  air  of  a  man  of  rank  and  fashion. 
Before  Ellen  was  fully  aware  of  his  presence,  he  drew  near  the 
bed,  and  gently  raised  the  fair  mourner.  He  had  not  the  air  of  a 
practiced  libertine,  but  rather  of  one  who,  by  some  strong  temp- 
tation, or  untoward  circumstance — or,  it  might  be,  from  mere 
idleness  and  the  necessity  of  some  excitement,  had  fallen  into 


THE    CHEAP   DRESS-MAKER.  135 

habits  that  wronged  not  only  his  better  nature,  but  his  previous 
life.  Even  in  his  familiarity  there  was  an  involuntary  expression 
of  respect,  as  if-  he  had  not  yet  lost  the  perception  -of  purity  in 
character,  or  the  veneration  which  it  always  inspires  when  recog- 
nised. He  might  have  feared  that  the  touching  tenderness  of  the 
scene  would  move  him  from  his  purpose ;  and  therefore  assumed 
an  air  of  levity  he  did  not  feel.  He  certainly  had  no  appearance 
of  the  heartlessness  which  his  words  might  imply. 

Poor  Ellen  was  in  a  position  truly  fearful ;  and  well  might 
her  guardian  angel  have  trembled  for  her  fate.  Yet  she  did  not 
shriek ;  she  did  not  fall  into  hysterics ;  but  her  whole  form  seemed 
to  dilate  and  expand  with  the  most  beautiful  pride,  as  she  broke 
from  his  paralyzed  arms  ;  and,  planting  herself  at  a  little  distance, 
she  turned  her  indignant  eyes  full  upon  him. 

"  Why  are  you  here  ?"  she  asked,  while  a  consciousness  of  the 
reason  sent  the  rich  blood  mantling  over  neck  and  brow,  the  sun- 
set falling  suddenly  on  a  statue  of  Parian  marble. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  sweet  Ellen,  this  is  but  a  cold  welcome  for 
one  who  has  left  the  gayest  haunts  of  pleasure  to  mourn  with 
you — to  comfort  and  bless  you.''  He  drew  nearer  and  whisper- 
ed, as  if  he  durst  not  utter  the  words  aloud — "  Again  to  offer  you 
that  protection,  which  you  cannot  now  refuse,"  and  once  more  he 
attempted  to  embrace  her. 

"Was  not  my  sorrow  great  enough  before,  that  you  have  come 
to  insult  me — even — before — she — is — buried  V  The  last  words 
had  been  uttered  with  painful  struggles,  as  if  each  syllable  had 
nearly  choked  her;  and  again  she  spoke:  "  Look  at  her.  Would 
she  be  smiling  there  so  pleasantly,  if  she  knew  what  you  have 
been  saying?  ISTo,  Mr.  Weldon  !  she  would  rise,  even  from  the 
dead,  to  rebuke  you.     She  could  not  hear  you,  and  be  still !" 

"You  talk  very  charmingly,  my  sweet  Ellen  ;  but  every  word 
you  speak  becomes  you  so  well,  it  only  seals  you  more  surely 
mine.  Come,  come  !  I  will  have  no  child's  play  !  I  love  you, 
as  I  have  often  told  you  before ;  and,  now  that  you  are  destitute 
of  other  protection,  I  have  come,  for  the  last  time,  to  offer  you 
mine.  I  give  you  the  strongest  evidence  of  love  in.  this.  I  come 
to  save  you  from  the  public  streets— from  brothels,  and  hospi- 
tals, that  you  will  too  surely  find ;  friendless,  hopeless,  young, 
and  beautiful,  as  you  are  !" 


136  THE     HESPERIAN. 


"Love!"  she  repeated,  with  a  look  of  scorn,  that  thrilled 
out  from  the  indignant  heart  of  virtue.  "Would  love  destroy? 
Would  love  disgrace  ?  Have  you  a  sister,  Mr.  Weldon  ?  and 
would  you  be  willing  to  hear  such  language  addressed  to  her  ? 
I  had  a  brother  once.  He  is  now  dead.  All  that  I  love  are 
dead  !"  she  added ;  and  with  a  voice  and  expression  of  the  most 
touching  simplicity,  she  yielded  for  a  moment  to  the  thought  of 
her  utter  desolation,  clasping  her  arms  around  her  own  delicate 
form,  as  if  that  were  all  she  now  had  to  cling  to  ;  and  she  must 
shield  it  as  best  she  might.  But  the  thought  of  her  danger  again 
roused  her ;  as  taking  advantage  of  her  abstraction,  Mr.  Weldon 
approached. 

"Come  not  one  step  nearer,  sir  !  not  one  step  nearer!  If 
my  brother  were  living,  you  would  not  dare  !  But  I  am  not 
friendless,  as  you  said  !  It  is  true  my  mother  lies  there,  dead  ; 
but  her  spirit  is  still  with  me  !  It  is  embodied  in  me  !  It  is 
stronger  than  you  are ;  and  defies  your  power  !  There  is  a  God 
in  Heaven  ;  nay,  there  is  a  God  here  present  with  us  !  I  am  not 
without  protection  ;  for  He  will  stretch  forth  his  arm  to  save !" 

"  Upon  my  faith,  sweet  Ellen,  your  anger  is  so  beautiful,  that 
I  could  almost  wish  you  would  be  always  angry.  But  I  am  not 
to  be  baffled  in  this  way ;"  and  throwing  off  the  wooer,  and  as- 
suming the  confident  air  of  the  conqueror,  he  approached,  and 
again  clasped  the  struggling  girl  in  his  arms.  "  Why,  what  a 
little  vixen  you  are,  Ellen  !  I  came  here  thinking  to  find  you 
all  dissolved,  perfect  softness ;  and  with  the  very  reasonable 
hope  of  kissing  away  your  tears  !" 

"  Kissing  !  0,  mercy  !"  was  uttered  in  a  kind  of  shriek,  that 
had  within  itself  the  elements  of  all  evil  expression  of  sound. 
"  Kissing  ! — in  this  very  room  where  her  mother  died  ;  and,  as 
one  may  say,  right  before  her  corpse  !"  and  to  the  utter  horror 
of  Ellen,  a  person  advanced  into  the  room,  and  confronted  the 
trembling  girl ;  fixing  upon  her  a  pair  of  wall  eyes,  whose  only 
expression  was  of  deep  and  malignant  cruelty,  which  now  lighted 
up  their  dullness  with  an  unnatural  glare,  like  a  thin  sulphuric 
flame  playing  over  the  dead  surface  of  molten  lead. 

[Concluded  next  month.'] 


THE  LIFTING  OF  THE  VEIL. 


Republished,  and  Inscribed  to  a  Bear-  Friend  in  Affliction. 


BY   MRS.   E.   A.    SIMONTON    PAGE. 


Between  the  Here  and  the  Hereafter, 

Heaven's  repose  and  earthly  strife, 
Hangs  a  mystic  screen  dividing 

Souls  from  souls  and  life  from  life. 
Soft  as  dew  falls  on  the  waters, 

Or  the  mist  o'er  mount  and  dale, 
Soundless  as  a  bud's  unfolding, 

Is  the  lifting  of  the  veil. 

When  we  pine  with  restless  yearning 

Some  long-vanished  form  to  view, 
Seems  the  veil  a  luminous  ether, 

Saintly  faces  smiling  through. 
We  can  almost  catch  their  whispers, 

Sweet  as  sigh  of  summer  gale — 
Almost  see  the  beckoning  fingers, 

And  the  lifting  of  the  veil. 

Yet  when  all  the  soul  is  weary 

Of  life's  turmoil,  pain,  and  whirl, 
Till  we  strive  to  rend  the  curtain, — 

Lo !  we  beat  but  walls  of  pearl. 
We  have  missed  the  crystal  doorways, 

Or  the  keys  celestial  fail — 
And  we  wait  without,  impatient 

For  the  lifting  of  the  veil. 

When  a  face  we  love  grows  pallid — 

Purer,  clearer,  day  by  day, 
-  Till  we  see  the  spirit's  luster 

Shining  through  its  tent  of  clay ; — 
When  the  jewel  leaves  the  casket, 

How  we  shudder,  weep,  and  wail, 
At  the  angel's  noiseless  beckoning, 

At  the  lifting  of  the  veil ! 


138  THE    HESPERIAN. 


To  the  Infinite  Creator 

The  grand  Universe  is  one — 
Far  blue  corridors  are  linking 

Sea  aud  sky  and  star  and  sun. 
It  is  all  the  Father's  mansion, 

And  the  loved  our  hearts  bewail, 
Did  but  reach  an  inner  chamber, 

At  the  lifting  of  the  veil ! 

Though  we  may  not  hear  their  footsteps, 

As  they  journey  to  and  fro 
Through  the  hidden,  shining  chambers, 

Noiseless  as  the  dropping  snow — 
Though  we  may  not  see  their  vestments 

Silvery  pure  as  moonbeam  pale, 
We  shall  meet  Ihem  fair  as  morning, 

At  the  lifting  of  the  veil. 

With  His  visible  works  so  mighty — 

With  such  splendors  spread  abroad, 
What  must  be  the  secret  places 

Of  this  Palace  of  our  God  ? 
Not  with  anguish — not  with  weeping — 

But  with  rapture  should  we  hail, 
Every  beckoning  of  the  angels, 

Every  lifting  of  the  veil ! 


Father  Taylor,  the  eccentric  seaman  preacher,  was  once  asked 
where  he  thought  Kalph  Waldo  Emerson  would  go  after  death. 
The  witty  old  man  replied  :  "  The  dear,  good,  blessed  soul  !  I 
don't  see  in  him  any  evidence  of  saving  faith;  but  then  I  don't 
know  what  Satan  could  do  with  him!" 


A  pair  of  stockings,  sent  to  the  ladies'  committee  at  Portland, 
for  the  use  of  the  soldiers,  was  accompanied  by  the  following 
rhyme : 

"  Brave  sentry,  on  your  lonely  beat, 
May  these  blue  stockings  warm  your  feet. 
And  when  from  war  and  camps  you  part, 
May  some  fair  knitter  warm  your  heart." 


^ttmm-ojj  Off  $&#-kHn. 

From  Madame  Demorest's  "  Quarterly  Keport  of  Fashion,"  we  learn  the  fol- 
lowing interesting  items  in  regard  to  Fashion  : — 

BODIES. 
The  bodies  of  new  Spring  toilettes  are  simple,  though  becoming.  The 
open  corsage,  with  r'evers,  is  not  so  much  worn  now  that  lighter  materials  are 
taking  the  place  of  the  heavy  fabrics.  For  ordinary  wear,  the  style  most  in 
vogue  is  plain  and  high,  of  ajnoderate  length,  and  set  in  a  belt  at  the  waist, 
over  which  a  belt  and  buckle  is  worn. 

EULL    DBESS. 
For  full  dress,  the  body,  whether  high  or  low,  is  pointed  before  and  be- 
hind, at  a  depth  which  might  be  considered  extreme.     At  the  sides  it  is 
straight. 

JACKETS. 

Jackets  are  always  worn  somewhat.  They  are  too  convenient  and  too 
useful  to  be  wholly  discarded.  This  season  they  are  veiy  pretty,  and  in  a 
great  variety  of  dainty  styles,  which  form  a  marked  contrast  to  the  large, 
awkward,  and  ungainly  fashions  in  which  they  were  first  introduced. 
Jackets  in  any  style,  however,  require  a  neat,  trim  figure,  or  else  a  great  deal 
of  taste,  to  prevent  them  from  looking  slovenly.  Persons  inclined  to  embon- 
point look  much  better,  as  a  general  rule,  in  a  plain  dress. 

GARIBALDI    SHIRTS. 

For  morning  wear,  "Garibaldi"  shirts,  which  were  introduced  late  last 
season,  are  in  great  favor  among  young  ladies,  and  look  very  piquante, 
and  sufficiently  tidy  over  a  neatly  fitting  corset.  A  sailor's  shirt,  hanging 
loosely  over  the  belt  at  the  waist,  gives  the  best  idea  of  them.  They  are 
made  in  flannel,  in  cashmere,  and  also  in  fine  corded  and  spotted  cambrics, 
which  are  very  pretty. 

BONNETS. 

"  Three  stories  "  has  been  the  designation  of  the  bonnets,  the  past  season, 
from  the  altitude  which  they  reached  above  the  forehead.  But  the  Summer 
bonnets  will  not  be  content  with  three  stories,  four,  five,  arid  six,  will  hardly 
fix  a  limit  to  their  aspirations.  In  other  words,  the  bonnets  are  very  high  in 
front,  and  form  a  square,  instead  of  coming  to  a  point  over  the  forehead, 
without,  however,  flattening  in  the  centre  in  the  least. 

For  Spring  reception  and  dress  hats,  drawn  white  tulle,  with  blue  velvet 
curtain  and  blue  velvet  bow,  and  feathers  across  the  front,  is  the  style  dis- 
played by  Madame  Bishop,  the  acknowledged  authority  in  the  world  of  taste 
and  fashion.     The  design  is  even  more  delicate  and  charming,  with  velvet 


140 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


and  feathers  in  a  beautiful  light  mauve  or  purple,  the  soft  fulled  tulle,  with  its 
silvery  sprigs,  forming  a  most  lovely  contrast. 

The  round  or  "fancy  "  hats  have  become  a  leading  feature  in  this  depart- 
ment, and  our  readers  will  admire  the  Summer  novelties  imported  by  Mme. 
Bishop,  who  is  the  leader  and  originator,  in  San  Francisco,  of  fashions  in 
ladies  and  children's  hats  of  this  description.  We  refer  our  lady  readers  to 
her  rooms,  No.  12  Montgomery  street. 

* 
trimmiijs'G-s  for  dresses. 

The  most  important  changes  which  we  notice  in  the  making  up  of  cos- 
tumes, consists  in  the  novelty,  profusion,  and  variety  of  trimming.  Our 
readers  must,  however,  bear  in  mind  that  cheap  trimmings  are  only  a  vulgar 
addition  to  any  toilette,  and  that,  unless  the  decoration  is  handsome  and  well 
chosen,  the  severest  simplicity  is  preferable.  For  the  bodies  and  sleeves  of 
rich  dresses,  the  most  beautiful  ornaments  of  Spanish  point  and  guipure  are 
fashioned  in  the  form  of  bows,  insertions  and  medallions.  Bows  of  ribbon 
are  also  much  worn,  and  are  frequently  used  instead  of  a  bouquet  de  corsage. 
Fringes  are  somewhat  in  vogue,  made  in  chenille,  in  a  novel  and  beautiful 
style ;  and,  recently,  embroidery,  so  long  confined  to  lingerie,  has  been  re- 
vised, and,  in  superb  mixtures  of  silk,  steel,  and  jet,  forms  a  superb  and 
elaborate  ornamentation  for  shawls,  robes,  and  the  pretty  basquine. 

The  most  popular  of  all  methods,  however,  is  the  trimmings  a  la  Grecqae, 
or  ruched  style,  which  can  be  made  simple  enough  for  the  plainest ;  or  elab- 
orate, with  the  addition  of  bows  and  lace,  or  colored  edges,  for  the  costliest 
material. 

For  lighter  materials,  such  as  pique,  and  especially  for  children's  clothing, 
braid  is  very  much  employed,  and,  if  arranged  with  taste  by  a  skillful  modiste, 
is  quite  as  effective  as  embroidery. 

We  have  mentioned  elsewhere  that  bonnets  were  very  high  in  front,  but 
the  ornament  is  no  longer  placed  directly  over  the  forehead.  A  very  full 
band,  or  pouffoi  lace  or  niching,  is  placed  across  the  top,  leaving  the  lower 
sides  to  be  filled  up  with  the  hair  and  strings.  On  one  side  of  this  pouff,  the 
flowers,  or  bow  and  feather,  is  laid,  giving  a  very  striking  and  more  becoming 
effect  to  the  ensemble  of  the  face. 

CXE>-En=LA-    SKIRTS. 
Some  skirts  are  now  made  open  at  the  seams,  which  are  turned    back  en 
revers,  and  trimmed  with  ruches.     Beneath  the  revers  a  gore  of  black  or 
white  quilted  satin  is  placed,  so  as  to  give  the  effect  of  a  quilted  satin  petticoat. 


DESCRIPTION    OF    FULL-SIZED    PAPER    PATTERN. 


We  send  this  month  the  Arabella  Sleeve — beautiful  in  its  simplicity. 
It  is  composed  of  but  one  piece,  trimmed  with  a  single  row  of  ruche,  or 
plaited  ribbon.  From  the  top,  extending  to  the  bottom  of  the  sleeve,  a  rib- 
bon, with  bow  at  the  elbow  and  hand,  with  two  ends  to  fall  gracefully. 


BftiU%'4  l&iibU". 


In  this  City,  May  19th,  by  Rev.  T.  Starr  King,  Nathaniel  Page,  of  the  firm  of  Soule  &  Page,  to  Miss 
B.  Amanda,  daughter  of  James  Simonton,  Esq.,  of  Portland,  Maine. 

The  Hesperian  long  since  declared  its  sentiments  in  favor  of  the  Union  and 
it  is  gratifying  to  us  to  know  that  our  contributors  are  in  sympathy  with  us 
on  this  question,  and  it  is  with  more  than  ordinary  pleasure  that  we  extend 
our  gratulations  on  this  occasion  to  a  contributor  so  highly  appreciated,  and 
so  tenderly  regarded  as  Miss  E.  Amanda  Simonton.  Her  exquisite  poems 
have  enriched  the  pages  of  the  Hesperian  from  time  to  time,  and  her  name 
is  a  household  word,  hallowed  and  revered  by  many  hearts  now  pulsating 
warmly  with  good  wishes  and  prayers  for  her  future  happiness  and  peace. 

The  beautiful  gem  which  we  publish  this  Month,  entitled  the  "  Lifting  of 
the  Veil  "  from  her  pen,  is  worthy  of  the  finest  poet  that  ever  strung  a  Lyre, 
and  many  a  wounded  and  bleeding  heart  will  find  solace  and  consolation  in  its 
soothing  strains  and  uplifting  sentiments, 

"We  have  been  favored  with  the  following  beautiful  tribute  : 

TO     A    POETESS, 
Lately  Married  in  San  Francisco. 

BY   PHILOS. 

Save  from  thy  tuneful  verse,  I  know  thee  not, 

Nor  ever  have  I  looked  upon  thy  face  ; 
But  thy  sweet  song,  what'er  may  be  my  lot, 

Will  ever  charm  me  by  its  winning  graee. 
Oh  !  pow'r  ethereal,  harmony  divine  ! 

Thou  claimest  loyal  hearts  of  unseen  friends  ; 
What  holy  triumphs  over  souls  are  thine, 

"When  gentle  truth  with  fervid  genius  blends  ! 

I  know  thee  not,  but  yet  I  bless  thy  name, 

And  wish  for  thee  a  happiness  supreme, 
As  e'er  on  gold  and  azure  pinions  came, 

To  tint  the  pageant  of  a  summer  dream : 
In  the  new  tie  that  binds  thee  as  a  wife, 

May  only  silken  chains  thy  heart  enfold, 
And  still  as  sweetly  may  thy  song  of  life 

Flow  on,  as  in  the  halcyon  days  of  old ! 

There  are  periods  in  nature  when  the  forces  at  work  are  unseen,  when 
the  trees  are  stripped  of  their  verdure  and  their  naked  branches  toss  helpless- 
ly in  the  air,  affording  no  grateful  shade,  and  giving  no  promise  of  returning 


142 


THE   HESPERIAN. 


beauty  in  quivering  leaf  an.il  delicate  blossom,  prophesies  of  nature  and  ripened 
fruitage.  And  yet  far  down  in  the  roots  of  the  tree,  deep  in  the  center  of  the 
trunk,  the  vital  forces  move  on,  silently,  slowly  it  may  be,  but  nevertheless 
with  a. power  which  ere  long  will  manifest  itself  in  a  mantle  of  green,  clothing 
each  twig  and  barren  branch  with  beauty,  meet  heralds  of  the  higher  uses  yet 
to  be  developed  by  the  same  still  forces. 

All  things  in  nature  must  undergo  their  transition  periods,  times  when 
they  seem  to  the  casual  observer  to  droop  and  even  die,  but  after  a  few  days 
or  weeks,  or  it  may  even  be  months,  the  vital  forces  within  having  accom- 
plished their  interior  work,  begin  to  give  outward  evidence  of  their  wondrous 
power,  first,  in  the  renewal  of  outward  life  and  the  putting  on  of  leaf  and  ten- 
dril and  blossom,  and  then  in  ripened  and  luxurious  fruits. 

Periodical  literature,  we  think,  is  subject  to  the  same  law,  at  least  those 
efforts  whose  early  vigor  have  enabled  them  to  sustain  life  long  enough  to 
reach  such  a  period.  And  this,  kind  friends,  is  the  condition  of  the  Hesper- 
ian to-day,  and  has  been  for  some  time  past.  But  do  not  be  alarmed,  though 
it  is  shorn  of  the  beautiful  illustrations  and  embellishments  of  its  more  youth- 
ful days,  but  trust  the  vigor  of  its  interior  life,  the  vital  forces  of  love  and  en- 
thusiasm which  will  ere  long  renew  its  beauty  and  develope  it  to  new  and 
higher  uses  at  your  firesides. 

■  Considering  the  condition  of  our  entire  country  and  the  devastating  floods 
which  have  swept  over  our  portion  of  it,  the  wonderis  not  that  the  Hesperian 
has  lost  some  of  its  outward  attractions,  or  that  the  issue  is  a  month  behind, 
its  appointed  time.  The  wonder  is,  that  the  vitality  of  Life  has  not  been  ex- 
tinguished, the  wonder  is  that  it  visits  your  homes  at  all ;  that  amid  all  the 
desolation  and  loss  the  State  has  so  recently  sustained,  that  there  are  so  many 
hands  yet  extended,  so  many  hearts  yet  interested  in  its  support. 

The  Hesperian  has  seen  its  share  of  what,  in  worldly  parlance,  is  called 
"  hard  times ;  "  the  flood  time  of  Frazer  Eiver  could  not  submerge  it.  It  has 
overcome  the  want  of  confidence  felt  by  the  public  in  all  new  enterprises,  it 
has  outlived  the  malice  of  those  who  aimed  to  destroy  on  account  of  its  Union 
sentiments,  and  it  has  held  its  own  in  spite  of  the  flood  and  terrible  pecuniary 
disaster  of  the  past  winter. 

It  has  been  said  that  California  is  unappreciative  of  mental  effort,  literary 
labor — we  think  we  have  proved  to  the  contrary,  for  the  cause  which  the  Hes- 
perian represents  has  a  place  in  the  affections  of  the  people,  and  the  warmth 
of  love  gives  vitality  to  any  cause. 

If  California,  for  years,  has  supported  a  magazine,  the  editorial  conduct  of 
which  was  in  hands  so  feeble,  whose  contributors,  talented  children  of  genius 
though  they  be,  have  for  the  most  part,  snatched  from  hours  of  daily  drudgery 
and  toil,  the  few  hasty  moments  which  gave  their  "  breathing  thoughts  and 
burning  words  to  the  world  " — If,  say  we,  California  has  so  well  supported  this 
feeble  literary  ray,  notwithstanding  the  obstacles  and  disadvantages  which 
every  way  beset  it,  what  will  it  not  do  for  it  in  more  prosperous  years  to  come. 
The  experiment  has  become  a  prophecy,  and  the  support  of  literature  in  Cali- 


editor's  table. 


143 


fornia  is  do  longer  a  problem.  The  Hesperian,  feeble  as  it  is,  has  proved  that 
there  is  in  California,  aud  down  deep  in  the  hearts  of  the  people,  an  innate  love' 
of  literature  as  it  springs  pure  and  clear  from  the  founts  of  inspired  genius, 
which  will  in  days  not  far  distant,  support  literary  magazines,  whose  qualities 
and  dimensions  will  not  be  inferior  to  any  in  the  United  States,  and  will  also 
give  to  mental  effort  a  reward  as  liberal  as  she  now  bestows  on  the  physical 
labors  of  her  sons  and  daughters.  We  had  thought  that  we  should  never 
again  resign  our  pleasant  duties  to  other  hands.  But  man  proposes  and  God 
disposes,  is  as  true  now  as  in  the  days  of  old,  and  many  circumstances  com- 
bined, make  it  necessary  for  us  to  absent  ourself  for  a  season  from  the  Editorial 
conduct  of  the  Hesperian.  Our  place  will  be  filled  during  our  absence  by 
our  friend,  Mrs.  E.  T.  Schenck,  a  lady  every  way  qualified  for  the  position, 
who  will  have  Editorial  charge  and  general  business  supervision. 

The  declining  health  of  our  only  remaining  child  makes  change  of  air  ne- 
cessary, and  we  have  determined  to  go  to  Europe  as  the  best  place  for  the  de- 
velopment of  the  work  which  we  have  in  hand,  and  also  that  from  there  we  can 
furnish  the  Hesperian  with  embellishments  and  illustrations  which  the  un- 
settled state  of  our  own  country  has  deprived  us  of,  not  only  that,  but  from 
there  we  will  keep  our  lady  friends  fully  posted  in  regard  to  the  movement  of 
that  fickle  dame  fashion,  and  send  full  sized  paper  patterns,  both  from  Lon- 
don and  Paris. 

A  few  months  must  elapse  before  we  can  fully  complete  our  plans,  so  as  to 
have  the  Hesperian  fully  embellished  as  we  design,  but  so  soon  as  space  can 
be  traversed,  so  soon  will  our  readers  hear  of  us,  and  the  Hesperian  give 
evidence  that  it  is  emerging  from  its  transition  state,  putting  on  new  forms  of 
beauty,  and  rising  into  higher  use. 

In  view  of  tins,  friends  and  patrons,  will  you  not  excuse  the  lateness  of 
our  issue,  and  bear  with  us  patiently  for  a  little  time,  nor  that  alone,  but  give 
us  your  sympathy  and  encouragement,  your  subscriptions  and  advertisements, 
to  aid  us  in  our  work  yet  a  little ;  we  know  you  will,  we  know  that  we  shall 
not  appeal  to  the  liberality  of  a  California  public  in  vain. 

Through  your  kind  encouragement,  the  fields  of  literature  in  California 
will  yet  whiten  with  abundant  harvests,  and  although  many  who  went  out 
early  bearing  precious  seed  with  them,  saw  it  fall  in  stony  places  or  by  the  way- 
side, and  themselves  fainted  and  fell  exhausted  by  the  way,  yet  shall  California 
awake  to  snatch  from  oblivion  those  sacred  names  and  render  justice,  tardy 
though  it  be  to  those  departed  ones,  and  cherish  with  tender  regard  and  more 
parental  solicitude  and  pride*  those  sons  and  daughters  of  genius  which  yet 
remain  to  her,  and  who  by  their  labor  preserved  her  History,  enriched  her 
literature  and  set  to  rythmic  measure  and  harmonic  cadence,  the  deep  musi- 
cal vibrations  and  pulsations  of  her  life. 

Friends — Seas  and  lands  will  soon  divide  us,  but  we  do  not  say  Farewell, 
for  the  Divinity  of  the  Soul  asserts  itself,  and  although  absent,  we  shall  be 
present  with  you. 

Contributors — We  are  more  than  thankful  for  the  aid  which  you  have 


144  THE    HESPERIAN. 


from  time  to  time  afforded  us.  Such  aid  as  has,  more  than  anything  else,  made 
the  Hesperian  valued  and  valuable.  We  need  your  assistance  still ;  stand 
by  the  work,  send  in  your  contributions  and  let  us  urge  you  to  even  more 
than  usual  effort  for  a  little  time,  during  the  first  of  our  absence,  that  Mrs. 
Schenck  may  be  made  to  feel  at  home  in  the  editorial  chair,  by  the  consider- 
ation and  kindness  of  the  different  members  of  the  Hesperian  family,  and 
also,  that  the  interest  of  the  Magazine  know  no  abatement.  Although  absent 
we  shall  be  in  daily  communion  with  you,  and  shall  write  you  from  abroad. 
Let  us  hear  from  you  not  only  through  the  pages  of  the  Hesperian,  but  by 
private  letter,  for  there  are  niches  in  our  he  art  which  would  be  unfilled  had 
we  no  word  from  you. 

Brothers  op  the  Press — You  who  have  so  often  by  timely  words  of 
encouragement,  cheered  us  on  our  way,  what  shall  we  say  to  you  ?  Memory 
carries  us  back  to  the  time  when  we  sent  out  the  first  number  of  the  Hesper- 
ian, a  stranger  to  your  doors  ;  with  what  appreciation  and  tenderness  was  it  re- 
ceived, with  what  courtesy  and  kindness  has  it  ever  been  treated.  To  say  we 
thank  you,  would  but  feebly  express  the  deep  swell  of  gratitude  we  feel,  and 
still  we  ask  you,  as  faithful  sentinels,  to  guard  well  the  interests  of  the  Hes- 
perian. Not  by  words  of  meaningless  flattery,  but  by  approbation  lolien  de- 
served, and  by  intelligent,  impartial  criticism  of  its  course  under  all  circum- 
stances. Wage  war  upon  it  when  you  discover  it  in  error,  for  as  Editors  of 
the  Ninteenth  Century,  you  should  be  champions  of  Progress  and  of  Truth. 

We  received  the  following  truthful  article  from  the  pen  of  Francis  H.  Spring- 
stead,  of  Red  Bluff ;  and  as  many  of  our  friends  may  desire  to  be  rich,  we 
commend  them  to  the  perusal  of  these  pungent  thoughts.  Let  us  hear  from 
yon  again,  friend  Francis  : — 

Eich  without  Money. — Many  a  man  is  rich  without  money.  Thou- 
sands of  men  without  anything  in  their  pockets,  and  thousands  without  even 
a  pocket,  are  rich.  A  man  born  with  a  good  sound  constitution,  a  good  stom- 
ach, a  good  heart,  and  good  limbs,  and  a  pretty  good  head-piece,  is  rich. 
Good  bones  are  better  than  gold — tough  muscles  than  silver  ;  and  nerves  that 
flash  fire  and  carry  energy  to  every  function,  are  better  than  houses  and  lands. 

It  is  better  than  a  landed  estate  to  have  the  right  kind  of  father  and 
mother.     Good  breeds  and  bad  breeds  exist  among  men,  as  really  as  among 
herds  and  horses.     Education  may  do  much  to  check  evil  tendencies,  or  to 
develop  good  ones;  but  it  is  a  great  thing  to  inherit  the  right  proportion  of  ' 
faculties  to  start  with. 

That  man  is  rich  who  has  a  good  disposition — who  is  naturally  kind,  pa- 
tient, cheerful,  hopeful,  and  who  has  a  flavor  of  wit  and  fun  in  his  composi- 
tion. The  hardest  thing  to  get  along  with  in  this  life,  is  man's  own  self.  A 
cross,  selfish  fellow — a  desponding  and  complaining  one — a  timid,  care-bur- 
dened man — these  are  all  deformed  on  the  inside.  Their  feet  may  not  limp, 
but  their  thoughts  do.     Such  is  a  man  "rich  without  money." 


PATTERNS. 


145 


FAIRY    APRON. 

Consists  of  three  pieces,  front,  back,  and  sleeve 
The  front  has  a  seam  from  the  neck  to  the  waist 
that  is  scalloped,  and  finished  with  a  narrow 
edging  or  braid.  At  this  seam  there  is  a  piece 
taken  out,  so  as  to  leave  a  plait  in  the  skirt. 
There  is  a  box-plait  laid  down  the  middle  of  the 
waist,  and  braided.  This  plait  throws  additional 
fullness  in  the  skirt,  and  makes  it  set  easy  and 
graceful.  Is  suitable  for  a  child  from  two  to 
four  years,  and  requires  one  and  one  half  yards 
of  brilliant. 


MINNIE    DRESS. 

A  plain  waist,  the  neck  cut  in  small  scallops 
trimmed  with  edging  and  narrow  velvet,  to 
contrast  with  the  dress.  The  skirt  is  trimmed 
with  a  piece  of  the  dress,  from  eight  to  ten  in- 
ches long  (according  to  the  size  of  child),  and 
four  inches  wide  at  the  bottom,  scalloped  at  the 
edges,  and  narrowed  to  a  point.  These  should 
be  trimmed  with  velvet,  and  set  on  with  buttons. 
A  bow  and  sash  of  the  same  for  the  waist. 
Short  puff  sleeve,  finished  with  bands  like  the 
skirt. 


DIAMOND    SLEEVE. 

This,  sleeve  is  full  at  the  top,  with  a  cap  in  three 
points.  The  lower  part  has  four  slashes  at  equal  dis- 
tances from  each  other — these  slashes  are  trimmed 
round  with  lace,  or  ruchin-g,  and  the  spaces  between  are 
drawn  and  fastened  by  a  bow — this  leaves  diamond- 
shaped  openings,  through  which  a  full  under-sleeve  is 
displayed.  The  sleeve  is  wide  enough  at  the  bottom  to 
show  the  under-sleeve,  which  should  be  fastened  at  the 
wrist. 


THE  LILIPUTIAN  LILY.     (Lilium  parvum. — Kellogg.) 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


Vol.  VIII.] 


JUNE,     1862 


[No.  4. 


CAPITAL     PUNISHMENT. 


BY  W.  WELLINGTON  CARPENTER,  M.  D. 


Judicial  murder  is  a  relic  of  that  epoch,  in  our  world's  history, 
when  mankind  were  governed  almost  exclusively  by  their  animal 
passions,  instead  of  that  heaven-horn  injunction,  "  Do  ye  unto 
others  as  ye  would  that  others  should  do  unto  you."  It  is  a 
memento  of  that  far  antiquated  period  when  the  savage  and  un- 
developed condition  of  the  human  family  rendered  such  laws 
necessary.  The  truly  enlightened  element  of  the  present  genera- 
tion, however,  can  see  no  further  necessity  for  its  existence.  It 
is  gratifying  to  witness  its  fast  fading  power  from  a  christian 
land ;  and  as  an  evidence  that  we  shall  soon  be  released,  entirely, 
from  the  crushing  grasp  of  the  unnatural  incubus,  we  have  only 
to  revert  to  its  extensive  abolition  in  times  past.  But  a  brief 
period  has  passed  into  the  great  sea  of  eternity,  since  the  death 
penalty  was  an  every-day  sentence  for  every  minor  offence 
known  to  the  catalogue  of  crime.  It  is  now  abolished  in  every 
enlightened  country  for  every  crime  but  murder.  Despair  not, 
virtue  loving  friends  ;  for  legalized  executions  will  so  surely  be 
abolished  for  the  single  remaining-  crime  of  murder,  as  the  law 
of  [progress  will  cause  the  ponderous  wheel  of  Time  to  make 
future  revolutions.  A  few  years  since,  when  priest-craft  ruled 
the  land,  men  were  executed  by  the  hundreds  of  thousands, 
against  whom  there  had  never  been  a  charge  preferred,  with  the 
solitary  exception  that  they  had  presumed  to  entertain  an  opinion 
of  their  own  on  the  subject  of  the  immortality  of  their  own  souls. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by  Mrs.   F.   H.  Day,   in   the   Clerk's 
Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Northern  District  of  California. 


148  THE    HESPERIAN. 


The  natural  progressive  ascendancy  of  moral  suasion  over  brute 
force  will,  at  no  very  distant  day,  label  legalized  murder,  "  slum- 
bering relic  of  savage  ancestry." 

Then  why  not  arouse  from  your  stupid  lethargy,  and  crown 
yourselves  with  the  honor  of  erasing  from  our  statutes  the  black 
stain,  and  thereby  place  society  and  posterity  under  an  obligation 
to  you  which  shall  grow  more  and  more  benignly  effulgent  as 
the  forward  march  from  time  to  time  the  better  qualifies  them  to 
appreciate  their  deliverance  from  bondage. 

And  when  you  have  accomplished  this,  do  not  substitute  that 
almost  equally  iniquitous,  sin-contaminating,  iron-barred  prison 
for   life.     Disabuse  yourselves  of  the   erroneous   idea  that   the 
human  mind  is  not  yet  sufficiently  developed  to  receive  the  en- 
lightened principles  of  Truth.     Believe  it  not  that  we  still  have 
to  drive  man  to  his  duty  as  we  drive  swine  to  the  slaughter. 
The  highest  pride  of  every  man's  ambition,  should  be  to  work 
for  the  moral  and  intellectual   elevation  of  mankind.     We  are 
creatures  of  circumstances — no  man  is  responsible  for  all  his  de- 
fects, nor  is  he  entitled  to  credit  for  all  his  virtues.     Were  a  man 
surrounded,  from  his  cradle  to  his  grave,  with  nothing  but  virtue, 
he  would  be  entitled  to  no  credit  whatever  for  being  virtuous ; 
because  he  having  had  nothing  but  virtue  to  choose  from,  it  were 
impossible  for  him  to  be  otherwise  than  virtuous.     And  on  the 
other  hand,  were  a  man  surrounded  with  nothing  except  immoral 
influences,  he  could  not  of  course  be  held  responsible  for  being 
immoral — he  having  had  no  choice  left  him  whatever,  it  was  a 
necessity  of  his  very  situation   to  don  the  garb  of  immorality. 
Now  let  us  apply   this   universally  admitted  infallible  rule,  to 
two  extreme  phases  of  society — characters  which  we  meet  with 
every  day.      Here  is   a   man,   the    perfection  of  Nature,    and 
the  polished  idol   of  Art.     He  has  inherited   a   perfect  moral 
intellectual,  and  physical  constitution,  and  has  been  surrounded 
every  moment  of  his  life  with  everything  that  was  capable  of 
developing  the  better  qualities  of  his  nature.       Society  takes 
a    special    delight   in   erecting  institutions  for    his   moral   and 
intellectual  cultivation ;   and   being  the  favorite  of  society,  he 
is  constantly   surrounded  with   all  the  concomitants  of  virtue, 
and  almost  unavoidably  makes  one  unbroken   chain  of  moral 
progression.       Now   for   the  opposite    character.       Here   is    a 


CAPITAL    PUNISHMENT.  149 

man  who  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  born  of  drunken,  diseased, 
profligate  parents.  The  consequence  is  that  he  has  inherited  a 
diseased,  imbecile  mental  and  physical  organization ;  for  which 
he  is  just  about  as  responsible  as  the  "  man  in  the  moon." 
Through  the  tender  months  of  infancy,  it  was  his  sad  fate  to 
nurse  the  breast  of  an  intemperate,  passionate  mother ;  and  from 
childhood  to  manhood,  fortuitous  circumstances  threw  him  al- 
most constantly  in  the  midst  of  evil  influences.  ISTow  people 
may  talk  as  much  as  they  choose  about  what  a  man  can  do  in  the 
way  of  resisting  evil  influences,  but  the  enlightened,  penetrative 
physiologist,  who  bases  his  argument  on  the  mighty  foundation 
of  Reason,  knows  that  that  morally  defective  being  is  not  able  to 
resist  all  the  unwholesome  influences  which  are  necessarily  met 
with  in  our  association  with  society.  Our  legal  sages  (?)  can  very 
easily  see  that  if  a  man  inherits  some  physical  infirmity,  he 
cannot  resist  the  same  amount  of  bodily  fatigue  that  he  could 
have  done  had  he  inherited  a  vigorous  physical  constitution. 
But  when  those  same  gentlemen  in  official  capacity  are  weighing 
some  sadly  moral  defect  in,  perhaps  the  same  man,  they  make 
not  an  iota  of  allowance  for  his  universally  acknowledged  mental 
inheritance  of  moral  disease;  but  then  and  .there,  on  that  very 
occasion,  they  hold  that  feeble  trembling  atom  of  mortal  clay, 
responsible  for  all  and  every  mental  and  moral  defect,  regardless 
of  the  all  important  fact  as  to  whether  they  were  inherited,  or 
acquired.     Oh  shame  on  such  an  abuse  of  power. 

But  we  will  return  to  our  unfortunate  character ;  and  we  do 
so  to  find  him  struggling  with  the  depressing  conflicts  of  adversi- 
ty ;  and  while  battling  with  the  discouraging  failures  of  life,  he 
becomes  involved  in  a  personal  difficulty ;  and  while  smai'ting 
under  a  real  or  an  imaginary  insult,  in  the  thoughtless  heat  of 
passion,  he  commits  murder — a  deed  from  which  he  would  shrink 
with  horror,  after  one  moment's  serious  sober  thought.  Oh  !  how 
that  poor  unfortunate  brother  prays  that  sympathy  and  mercy 
may  be  extended  to  him  in  his  fallen  condition.  But  how  do  we 
grant  him  that  mercy  %  Ah  !  we  don't  grant  it  at  all.  And  did 
we  only  withhold  rational  sympathy  we  might  be  pardoned.  We 
not  only  withhold  it,  but  we  do  that  which  is  ten  thousand  times 
worse.  "We  perpetrate  the  same  deed  in  cool  blood — the  result  of 
calm  deliberative  action — which  he  committed  in  a  temporary  fit 


150  THE   HESPERIAN. 


of  insanity.  Believe  it  not,  that  murder  is  less  murder,  because  le- 
galized by  feeble,  fallible  man.  All  the  crude,  fallible  laws  of  feeble 
mortals  will  vanish  like  the  mist  before  the  wind,  when  our  cause 
is  appealed  to  that  Justice,  who  alone  is  able  and  willing  to  grant 
pure,  unalloyed  justice  to  every  individual  case.     How  indescri- 
bably small,  and  murderously  presumptive  on  that  great  day, 
when  all  mankind  are  to  be  judged  "  according  to  the  deeds  done 
in  the  body,"  will  your  legal  decisions  of  "  hang  that  man,"  or 
"  cut  that  man's  head  off,"  look  to  you.     In  all  our  dealings  with 
our  fellow  men,  cause  and  effect  should  be  profoundly  considered, 
and  impartially  weighed  in  their  true  relation  to  each  other.   But 
such  is  not  the  case  in  our  unjust  style  of  dealing.   With  us,  Cause 
is  entirely  lost  to  view,  while  Effect  is  punished  for  the  crimes  of 
both.     "We  have  already  seen  that  men  are  often  the  victims  of  a 
chain  of  circumstances,  a  vast  majority  of  which  they  have  no 
more  power  to  control,  than  they  had  to  govern  the  act  of  their 
birth ;  which  is  evidence  enough  that  we  should  treat  the  faults 
and  failings  of  mortality  with  a  very  great  degree  of  tolerance. 
Let  us  abolish  the  death  penalty,  and  in  its  place  let  us  not  substi- 
tute that  horrible  imprisonment  for  life.     Oh  !  think  of  the  awful 
responsibility  of  robbing   a  human  being  of  his  last  mortal  free- 
dom, and  his  last  hope  of  moral  reformation  of  character.     How 
futile  would  be  the  efforts  of  an  unfortunate  criminal,  whom  the 
condemnatory  voice  of  the  community  had  sentenced  to  a  life  of 
infamy  and  disgrace,  in  a  dark,  damp,  sin-contaminating  prison, 
to  retrieve  his  lost  character.    It  would  be  pleading  for  that  which 
he  knew  would  not  be  granted,  for  his  very  sentence  is  a  public 
avowal  that  he  is  unfit  for  society — totally  lost.     Think  you  not 
that  is  assuming  a  little  too  much?     ISTo  man  ever  lived  who  was 
so  pure,  that  in  him  could  not  be  traced  some  imperfection ;  nor 
ever  lived  there  a  man  so  buried  in  sin  that  in  him  could  not  be 
found  some  goo,d.     That  being  the  case,  there  is  no  rule  in  exis- 
tence more  plain  than  that  if  we  are  under  any  obligation,  what- 
ever, to  labor  for  the  reclamation,  and  final  salvation  of  the  hu- 
man race,  we  are  under  obligation  to  labor  for  all :  the  only  dis- 
tinction necessary  is  to  work  hardest  for  those  who  need  our  ex- 
ertions most.     Now   do  those  plain  rules  of  justice  correspond 
with  the  present  rules  of  society,  which  are  to  consign  those  who 
most  need  our  exertions  to  infamy  without  a  hope  of  being  saved, 


CAPITAL   PUNISHMENT. 


151 


while  we  bestow  all  our  labors  upon  those  who  comparatively 
need  them  not  ?     We  think  not.     Then  let  us  reverse  our  tactics. 
Like  begets  like.     He  who  has  uncouth  associates,  will  most  like- 
ly be  uncouth  himself.     "We  find  that  our  present  method  of  man- 
aging criminals,  sinks  them  lower  and  lower  in  crime  and  degrada- 
tion, and  the  reason  is  obvious — there  is  no  encouragement  held  out 
to  them  to  reform.     It  is  to  the  interest  of  those  having  them  in 
charge  that  they  should  not  reform.     Should  they  (the  criminals) 
become  worthy,  useful  members  of  society,  they   (the  officers) 
would  be  thrown  out  of  fat  offices.  From  the  first  petty  act  down 
to  the  last  dark  deed  which  has  consigned  him  to  State  Prison  for  a 
long  term  of  years,  every  move  was  calculated  to  degrade  him 
more  and  more.  Perhaps  his  first  act  was  stealing  two  bits  worth 
of  potatoes  to  appease  the  gnawing  pangs  of  hunger ;  and  had  he 
then  been  taken  in  charge  by  some  person  who  took  a  sincere  in- 
terest in  his  moral  welfare,  and  privately  and  secretly  talked  with 
in  the  right  spirit,  in  all  probability  it  would  have  been  his  last 
deed  of  crime.  But  on  the  contrary  he  is  taken  and  publicly  rushed 
through  the  streets  to  the  city  prison ;  there  his  likeness  is  taken, 
and  he  is  posted  up  in  the  streets  as  a  public  thief.  His  doom  is  now 
sealed.     What  hope  has  he  now  to  labor  for  a  good  name  ?  Should 
helive  an  immaculate  life  for  the  space  of  twenty-five  years,  he 
would  be  still  branded  as  a  public  thief;  and  all  because  of  that 
heartless,  brutal  public  exposure.     In  the  place  of  our  present 
prison  let  us  substitute  for  that  purpose  a  confinement  surrounded 
with  all  the  concomitants  of  virtue  and  morality.   Let  our  present 
sentinels  and  safeguards,  who  rule  with  powder  and  lead,  be  re- 
moved and  their  places  supplied  with  moral  teachers,  whose  busi- 
ness it  should  be  to  labor  for  the  moral  reformation  of  the  prison- 
ers.    Let  the  period  of  their  confinement  be  left  to  the  discretion 
of  the  teachers  in  charge,  as  they  would  be  better  qualified  than 
any  other  persons  to  discriminate  as  to  their  fitness  to  be  turned 
loose  upon  society.     Should  they  think  it  advisable  to  keep  a 
prisoner  confined  fifty  years,  let  it  be  so.     I  would  have  them  labor 
for  the  state,  the  same  that  they  do  now  ;  but  the  main  feature  in 
the  management  of  the  institution  should  be  the  moral  and  intel- 
lectual culture  of  its  inmates.  In  a  word,  instead  of  robbing  them 
of  the  last  ray  of  hope — a  necessary  result  of  our  present  plan — I 
would  have  them  governed  through  the  mystic  influence  of  love. 


IMPRISONMENT     FOR     DEBT.* 


BY  MRS.   SIGOUKNEY 


Why  do  ye  tear 
Yon  lingering  tenant  from  his  humble  home  ? 
His  children  cling  about  him,  and  his  wife 
Regardless  of  the  wintry  blast  doth  stand 
Watching  his  last,  far  footsteps  with  the  gaze 
Of  speechless  misery — What  hath  he  done  ? 
In  passion's  madness  did  he  raise  the  steel 
Against  his  neighbor's  breast, — or  in  the  stealth 
Of  deep,  deliberate  malice,  touch  his  roof 
With  widely  desolating  flame  ?     No — No. — 
His  crime  is  poverty. — He  hath  no  hoard 
Of  hidden  wealth  from  whence  to  satisfy 
His  creditor's  demand. — Sickness  perchance 
Did  stay  his  arm,  or  adverse  skies  deny 
The  promis'd  harvest, — or  the  thousand  ills 
That  throng  the  hard  lot  of  the  sons  of  toil 
Drink  up  his  spirits.     Ye  indeed  may  hold 
His  form  incarcerate, — but  will  this  repair 
The  trespass  on  your  purse  ?     To  take  away 
The  means  of  labor,  yet  require  its  fruits 
In  strict  amount,  methinks  doth  savor  more 
Of  ancient  Egypt's  policy,  than  Christ's, — 
Themis,  perchance,  may  sanction  what  the  code 
Of  Him  who  came  to  teach  the  law  of  love, 
Condemns — "  How  reddest  thou  f  " 

There  are  who  deem 
The  smallest  portion  of  their  drossy  gold 
Full  counterpoise  for  liberty  and  health, — 
And  God's  free  air,  and  home's  sweet  charities. 
'Mid  the  gay  circle  round  their  evening  fire 
They  sit  in  luxury, — the  warbling  song, 
The  guest, — the  wine  cup  speed  the  flying  hours, 
Forgetful  how  the  captive's  head  doth  droop 
Within  his  close  barr'd  cell, — or  how  the  storm 
Doth  hoarsely  round  his  distant  dwelling  sweep 


*  The  article  "  Capital  Punishment,"  from  the  pen  of  a  highly  valued  contributor,  reminds  us 
of  the  following  Poem,  by  Mrs.  Sigourney,  written  during  the  "  dark  ages  "  when  imprisonment 
for  debt  was  legalized. 


IMPRISONMENT   FOE,   DEBT.  153 

Where  she  who  in  their  lowly  bed  bath  wrapped 

Her  famished  babes,  kneels  shivering  by  their  side, 

And  weeping  mingles  with  her  lonely  prayer. 

Revenge  may  draw  upon  these  prison  griefs 

To  pay  her  subsidy, — and  sternly  wring 

A  usury  from  helpless  woman's  woe, 

And  infancy's  distress  ;  but  is  it  well 

For  souls  that  hasten  to  a  dread  account 

Of  motive  and  of  deed,  at  Heaven's  high  bar, 

To  break  their  Savior's  law  ? 

Up, — cleanse  yourselves 
From  this  dark  vestige  of  a  barbarous  age, — 
Sons  of  the  Gospel's  everlasting  light ! — 
Nor  let  a  brother  of  your  sun-blest  clime 
Reared  in  your  very  gates,  participant 
Of  freedom  and  salvation's  birthright,  find 
Less  favor  than  the  heathen.     It  would  seem 
That  Man  who  for  the  fleeting  breath  he  draws, 
Is  still  a  debtor,  and  hath  nought  to  pay, — 
He,  who  to  cancel  countless  sins  expects 
Unbounded  clemency, — 't  would  seem  that  he 
Might  to  his  fellow-man  be  pitiful, 
And  show  that  mercy  which  himself  implores. 


Social  Intercourse. — We  should  make  it  a  principle  to 
extend  the  hand  of  fellowship  to  every  man  who  discharges 
faithfully  his  duties — maintaining  good  order — -who  manifests  a 
deep  interest  in  the  welfare  of  general  society — whose  deport- 
ment is  upright,  and  whose  mind  is  intelligent,  without  stop- 
I  ping  to  ascertain  whether  he  swings  a  hammer  or  draws  a 
thread.  There  is  nothing  so  distant  from  all  natural  rule  and 
natural  claim,  as  the  reluctant — the  backward  sympathy — the 
forced  smiles — the  checked  conversation — the  hesitating  com- 
pliance— the  well-off  are  too  apt  to  manifest  to  those  a  little 
lower  down ;  with  whom,  in  comparison  of  intellect  and  princi- 
ples of  virtue,  they  sink  into  insignificance. 


The  way  to  cure  our  prejudices  is  this,  that  every  man 
should  let  alone  those  that  he  complains  of  in  others,  and 
examine  his  own. 


THE     CHEAP    DRESS-MAKER 


BY   FANNY   GREEN. 


[Continued  from  page  136.] 

The  intruder  was  a  woman  of  at  least  the  middle  age,  yet  with 
an  exceeding  affectation  of  juvenility  in  her  dress  and  manner  ; 
while  a  thin  veil  of  simpering  softness,  was  thrown  over  features 
so  sharp  that  they  pricked  through  the  slight  covering. 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  reward  of  all  my  kindness — of  all  my  sac- 
rifices— of  all  that  I  have  ventured  in  coming  to  this  house — 
where  fevers  are  nothing  to  the  foul  moral  atmosphere,  so  to 
speak,"  continued  the  lady,  warmed  into  unwonted  eloquence 
by  the  thought  of  her  own  heroism  ;  this  is  what  I  get  for  being 
charitable — for  picking  up  the  very  filth  out  of  the  mud-gutter, 
as  'twere  !  and  giving  work  to  them,  that  should  have  been  given 
to  then*  betters !  Making  assignations,  indeed  !  you  good-for- 
nothing  dirty  huzzy !  I'll  teach  you  what  it  is  to  impose  upon 
virtuous  ladies  in  this  way!"  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word, 
she  approached  the  agitated  girl,  who  stood  at  a  little  distance 
leaning  against  the  wall,  wholly  unable  to  support  herself,  and 
presenting  a  picture  of  the  most  pitiable  distress !  and  seizing 
her  by  the  arm,  shook  her  rudely,  saying,  at  the  same  time: 
"  You  needn't  stand  there  shaking  from  head  to  foot,  and  turn- 
ing all  colors — trying  to  act  out  innocence  !  I  know  you  !  I'll 
tell  your  minister !  I'll  complain  to  your  church !  I'll  have  you 
turned  out,  you  whited  sepulchre  !  How  did  you  dare  to  enter 
our  holy  church,  and  come  to  the  holy  communion  table ;  and 
kneel,  even  beside  me,  to  partake  of  the  sacred  emblems  of  the 
body  and  blood  of  the  blessed  Saviour  !  I  wonder  the  holy 
bread  didn't  choke  you  !  I  wonder  the  sacred  wine  didn't 
strangle  you."  Here  the  lady  was  so  wholly  overcome  with 
the  fervor  of  the  religious  sentiment,  that  she  sank  into  a 
chair ;  and,  taking  out  her  salts,  prepared  for  a  regular  cam- 
paign of  hysterics,  to  which  her  extreme  sensibility  made  her 
quite  subject.     She  put  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief  to  her 


THE    CHEAP    DRESS-MAKEK.  155 

eyes,  and  having  ascertained  that  it  was  really  wet — that  she  had 
actually  made  the  experiment  successful — she  contrived  to  keep 
up  the  flow  of  tears  for  some  time. 

"  Who  are  you,  madam  ?"  asked  the  gentleman,  approaching 
her,  and  fixing  upon  her,  eyes  so  penetrating  that  she  felt  they 
read  her  secret,  "  and  by  what  right  do  you  intrude  yourself  into 
this  chamber  of  mourning,  and  presume  to  lay  rude  hands  on  this 
suffering  young  lady  !  " 

"  I  am  the  person,  sir,  who  gives  the  dirty  little  jade  employ- 
ment !  But  for  me,  sir  she  would  have  starved.  She  came  to  me 
a  stranger,  sir,  and  asked  for  work — I  have  such  a  trusting  dispo- 
sition— I  never  can  suspect  anybody !  They  told  me  I  should  ruin 
myself  yet,  by  taking  in  everything  out  of  the  street  without  cre- 
dentials !  But  I  can't  be  suspicious :  and  I  dont  suppose  I  ever 
shall  be,  if  I'm  deceived  every  hour  in  the  day ! "  and  here 
she  fell  weeping  more  violently  than  before,  at  the  idea  of  her 
own  confidingness — it  was  so  touching! — saying  at  intervals,  as 
she  found  voice.  "She  has  been  back  and  forth  to  my  house — to 
my  house,  sir !  And  my  mother,  knowing  my  inexperience,  and 
ardent  nature,  warned  me,  sir!  yes,  my  dear  kind  mother  warned 
me  to  beware !  — and  told  me  she  was  an  arch-deceiver — and  that 
my  own  reputation  would  suffer — and  she  feared  I  was  opening 
my  doors  to  a-a-my  delicacy  shrinks  from  the  expression.  You 
must  know,  sir,  what  I  would  say !  "  and  at  the  thought  of  all 
these  affecting  circumstances,  she  burst  out  again  into  renewed 
sobs. 

"  I  am  too  practiced  an  observer,"  he  replied,  "  to  be  imposed 
upon  by  all  this  sham.  Tour  acting  may  be  very  fine ;  but  it 
wont  go  for  fact.  ]STow,  madam,  let  me  ask  you  one  question. 
If  there  is  guilt  here,  I,  at  least,  must  be  equally  guilty.  Why, 
then,  does  your  indignation  fall  wholly  upon  her  ?  Society  must 
answer  for  you.  Sociery  that  tolerates,  nay,  cherishes  the  most 
open  and  shameless  profligacy  in  man,  while  it  makes  a  capital 
offense,  and  punishes  with  an  unrelenting  heart,  the  barest  suspi- 
cion of  it  in  woman  !  And  woman  tolerates  this  !  Oh,  bitterly, 
deeply,  as  I  feel  my  own  unworthiness,  I  could  preach  upon  this 
subject  !  I  could  hold  up  enormities  to  your  view,  that  would 
make  your  soul  quake  in  your  body — I  could  show  you  how  the 
envy,  the  malignity,  the   cold  uncharitableness  of  woman,  come 


156 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


in  to  aid  the  selfishness,  and  the  sensuality  of  man,  until  our  streets 
throng  with  neglected,  despised  victims — and  our  drawing  rooms 
with  cherished  and  caressed  libertines.  Look  at  me,  madam.  By 
your  own  showing  you  must  have  believed  me-  guilty  •  and,  yet, 
should  you  happen  to  wander  into  the  society  where  I  am  known 
you  would  smile  upon  me  ;  and  the  knowledge  of  my  guilt  would 
be  no  barrier  to  your  civility  !  " 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  be  insulted,  sir  !  I'd  have  you  to  know 
I'm  none  of  that  kind  of  character  you  take  me  for !  But  it  is 
well  I  did  come,  though  it  has  been  almost  too  much  for  my  sen- 
sibilities !"  She  again  inhaled  salts ;  and  feeling  herself  suffi- 
ciently strong,  she  rose  from  her  chair,  as  if  about  to  leave  the 
room,  saying  at  the  same  time  :  "  She  shall  be  exposed !  I'll  have 
a  church  meeting  this  very  night !" 

Ellen  sprang  to  her  side,  and  strove  to  detain  her.  "  Stay, 
Miss  Liusey  !"  she  cried  ;  "  stay,  I  beseech  yon,  and  hear  me  !" 

"  Don't  touch  me,  you  dirty  thing !"  returned  the  lady,  draw- 
ing up  the  folds  of  her  mantilla,  and  adjusting  it  over  her  promi- 
nent shoulders  with  truly  professional  tact.  "  And  here  let  me 
tell  you,  miss,  never  to  enter  my  doors  again ;  for  I'll  never  give 
you  another  stitch  of  work  the  longest  day  I  live !  I'd  have  you 
understand,  miss,  I  keep  no  house  of  assignation  !" 

"Oh,  Miss  Linsey,  do  not  cast  me  off!"  said  the  afflicted  girl, 
clinging  to  her  arm  with  a  force  that  could  not  be  repelled.  "  Do 
let  me  go  to  your  house !  Let  me  be  your  servant — your  slave — 
till  I  can  find  some  other  home  !  Indeed,  I  am  too  young  to  be 
all  alone." 

"  Well,  if  this  audacity  don't  beat  all !  The  creature  must  be 
drunk,"  coolly  returned  Miss  Linsey  ;  for  her  hysteric  affections 
were  producing  their  reaction,  and  she  looked  at  the  girl,  who, 
from  extreme  faintness,  weakness  and  agitation,  had  fallen  at  her 
feet,  bowing  her  beautiful  head  quite  to  the  ground,  and  sobbing 
fearfully. 

"  Oh,  tell  her,  Mr.  "Wei don  !"  she  cried,  looking  up  imploring- 
ly in  his  face,  "  tell  her  the  truth.  She  will  believe  you,  for  you 
are  rich." 

There  was  a  keen  sarcasm  in  the  simplicity  of  her  remark  that 
did  not  escape  even  the  obtuse  perceptions  of  Miss  Linsey ;  and 
she  was  about  to  reply,  but  was  interrupted  by  the  gentleman's 
asking :     "  You  are  pious,  madam  ?" 


THE    CHEAP    DEESS-MAKEE.  157 

"  I  humbly  hope  so,"  replied  the  lady,  dropping  her  eyes 
with  a  look  of  practiced  humility. 

"  You  profess  to  be  a  follower  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  ?  " 

"  Of  the  Blessed  Saviour  who  died  on  Calvary  for  the  salva- 
tion of  such  as  have  made  their  calling  and  election  sure — being 
chosen  from  the  foundation  of  the  world,  to  be  the  recipients  of 
grace,"  replied  Miss  Linsey,  her  humility  continuing  to  deepen 
as  she  spoke.  "  I  have  been  snatched  as  a  brand  from  the  burn- 
ing, by  the  precious  gift  of  his  atoning  blood,  and,  now" — she 
laid  a  hand,  whose  leanness  was  not  wholly  lost  in  the  profusion 
of  its  rings,  upon  her  heart,  while  the  large  whites  of  her  dis- 
tended eyes,  took  an  expressive  roll  Heavenward — "  and,  now,  if 
I  know  myself.  I  think  I  may  say  that  I  am  so  far  resigned  to 
the  will  of  Grod,  and  the  guidance  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  that  I  feel 
it  would  be  perfectly  right,  if  he  should  see  fit  to  punish  me  for 
ever,  in  all  the  torture  of  Hell-fire.  I  am  a  poor  miserable  sin- 
ner, and  don't  deserve  anything  else  !  " 

"  You  have  a  very  just  appreciation  of  your  own  merits,  I 
perceive,  madam,"  he  rejoined,  bowing  with  a  slight  smile. 
"  But  this  is  not  to  the  present]  point.  Suppose  your  Divine 
Master  were  here,  madam,  at  this  moment ;  what  would  he  say 
to  this  young  lady  ?  We  will  suppose  she  is  guilty,  as  you  seem 
to  think.  But  she  is  so  young.  She  is  poor.  She  is  friendless. 
There  is  everything  to  discourage  any  effort  at  respectability, 
and  nothing  to  encourage.  She  has  a  thousand  excuses.  Would 
he  spurn  her  from  his  threshold  ?  Would  he  drive  her  by  star- 
vation into  deeper  crime  ?     Answer  me,  madam." 

Several  times  she  attempted  to  speak  ;  but,  really,  she  had 
never  before  taken  this  view  of  the  subject ;  and  so  she  was 
wholly  unprepared  ;  and  he  went  on. 

"  No  ;  you  would  hear  the  withering  rebuke,  like  those  of  old, 
and  she  would  hear  the  welcome  words  of  blessing  ;  '  Daughter, 
thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee ;  go  and  sin  no  more  '  ;  and  he  would 
take  her  by  the  hand,  and  lead  her  to  a  place  of  safety. 

"  Now  for  the  facts.  She  is  not  only  innocent  of  all  gross 
misdemeanor,  but  she  has  a  delicacy,  a  purity,  of  which  you, 
madam,  and  thousands  of  others  who  would  conspire  to  drag 


15S  THE   HESPERIAN. 


her  down  to  ruin,  never  dreamed.  There  are  many  who  cling 
to  correctness  in  the  overt  action — propriety  in  the  tangible 
fact — who  are  yet,  corrupt,  impure,  in  heart  and  mind  ;  while 
I  believe  there  are  many  among  the  utterly  ruined,  who  yet 
have  delicacy  and  feeling,  that  revolt  at  the  life  they  are  com- 
pelled to  lead.  It  would  be  well  if  society  should  come  to  ap- 
preciate these  things  more  justly  ;  and  it  would,  doubtless,  be 
shown,  that  Moral  Reformers  may  find  subjects  of  conversion 
where  they  are  least  expected.  I  think  it  holds  good,  as  a  gene- 
ral law,  that  the  really  pure  are  most  lenient  to  the  faults  of 
others.  Certainly,  if  I  find  a  woman  in  haste  to  condemn  the 
peccadilloes  of  her  sex — who  is  too  pure  to  render  necessary 
help,  even  to  the  vicious — or  who,  in  a  doubtful  case,  adopts  the 
worst  construction,  I  always  suspect  her.  That  is  my  rule  ;  and 
I  have  ever  found  it  a  good  one.  And  to  speak  yet  more  plainly, 
madam,  I  believe  that  the  idea  of  this  young  lady's  impurity,  is 
not  one  half  so  offensive  to  you,  as  the  sight  of  her  extreme 
youth  and  beauty." 

Hereupon  the  lady  became  so  indignant  that  she  made  a 
violent  rush  at  the  door,  tearing  herself  away  from  the  clinging 
arms  of  the  still  prostrate  girl ;  who,  yielding  to  the  forced  ex- 
pulsion, fell  heavily  upon  the  floor.  They  then  saw  that  she 
was  not  only  quite  senseless,  but  rigid  as  if  the  final  rest  she 
coveted  had  really  come. 

"  Poor  Ellen  !  dear  Ellen  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Weldon,  lifting 
her  respectfully,  and  chafing  her  temples ;  at  the  same  time 
snatching  her  salts  from  the  hand  of  Miss  Linsey,  he  held  it  to 
her  nose,  when  she  inhaled  a  long  breath  ;  and  soon  after  opened 
her  eyes,  but  quickly  reclosed  them.  He  laid  her  down  on  the 
carpet,  and  placing  a  cushion  under  her  head,  he  knelt  beside 
her,  and  continued  rubbing  her  hands. 

"  Here  is  indeed  virtue,"  he  said,  as  if  "communing  with  him- 
self rather  than  addressing  another,  "  virtue  triumphant  in  the 
sorest  trials.  And  you,  Miss  Linsey,  boast  yourself  pious ! 
You  call  yourself  charitable !  Yours  is-  such  charity  as  will 
keep  any  number  of  poor  wretches  from  starving,  so  long  as  it 
can  make  a  handsome  daily  speculation  out  of  their  miserable 


THE    CHEAP    DRESS-MAKER.  159 

labors  !  Yours  is  such  piety  as  deals  in  cant  phrases,  set  forms 
of  speech,  and  shuts  your  doors,  and  your  cold  ears,  and  your 
stony  heart,  against  the  stranger  and  the  helpless  !  Upon  quite 
insufficient  evidence  you  would  destroy  the  character  of  a  poor 
young  creature,  whose  character  is  all  she  has,  and  plunge  her, 
headlong,  down  to  ruin  !  Common  murder  is  white  compared 
with  such  a  crime  !  You  are  deaf  to  cries  that  might  move  flint 
to  feeling  !  Ah,  it  is  just  such  charity — just  such'piety  as  yours, 
that  fills  up  brothels,  and  makes  our  streets  swarm  with  prosti- 
tutes !  " 

He  paused  a  moment ;  and  then  added,  "  I,  too,  have  been 
guilty — fearfully,  shamefully  guilty  in  this  matter  ;  but  through 
your  fault  I  have  seen  my  own.  I  thank  you  for  the  view.  I 
am  now  arrested  in  my  vicious  course — and  it  shall  be  the 
business  of  my  life — yes,  my  whole  life,  madam,  to  make  atone- 
ment !  I  entered  this  room  with  the  vile  intentions  of  a  seducer 
of  the,innocent.  I  trust  I  shall  leave  it  a  humbled — a  penitent 
— a  regenerated  man  !  " 

"Dear,  dear  Ellen!"  he  said,  while  his  tears  fell  like  rain 
upon  her  pale  face,  "I  have  learned  a  lesson  this  hour  that  I 
shall  never  forget.  Peerless  gem  of  beauty  and  of  virtue  !  I 
will  not  ask  your  love  until  I  am  worthy  of  you.  Look  upon 
me,  sweet  Ellen  !  and  bless  me  once  more  with  the  light  of  your 
soft  eyes."  He  raised  her  up,  and  folded  her  reverently  to  his 
heart.  "  Pardon  me,  my  precious  one  !  "  he  added,  "  and  shrink 
not ;  for  your  chaste  form  is  sacred  here,  as  if  it  rested  in  a 
brother's  arms." 

"  0,  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  her  frightful  paleness  seemed 
to  deepen,  "  let  me  not  feel  myself  a  murderer  !  "  He  threw 
his  purse  to  Miss  Linsey  ;  "  for  heaven's  sake,"  he  said,  "  step 
out,  or  send  for  a  little  wine  !  She  is  fainting  away,  perhaps 
for  want  of  food  !  "  Mechanically  the  lady  obeyed.  Another 
attendant  was  summoned  from  below,  and  a  slight  draught  was 
administered,  which  soon  had  the  desired  effect ;  yet  more  than 
all,  perhaps,  his  passionate  exclamations  roused  her.  She  looked 
wistfully  round ;  and,  with  the  first  consciousness  of  returning 
life,  she  strove  to  leave  his  arms.     He  then  delicately  resigned 


160  THE    HESPERIAN. 


her  to  the  care  of  the  landlady,  who  had  just  appeared,  by  his 

request,  to  protect  her,  and  supply  her  wants  for  a  short  time. 

Then  bending  over  her,  he  said,  "  Ellen,  be  of  good  cheer.     I 

have  a  truly  Christian  mother,  who  is  not  too  pious  to  succor 

the  friendless.     You  shall  be  placed  under  her  protection  this 

very  hour.    You  shall  be  to  me  as  my  dearest,  my  tenderest,  my 

most  sacred  sister ;  and,  if  the  devotion  of  a  whole  life  may  win 

love,  I  will  win  yours.      Are  you  afraid  yet  to  trust  me,  sweet 

Ellen  ?     You  will  not  fear  to  trust  my  mother ;   for  she  will  be 

most  truly  a  mother  to  you ;  and  you   shall   rest  in  her  kind 

bosom,  even  as  you  have  slept  in  the  bosom  of  her  you  have  lost.' ' 

He  drew  her  to  the  bedside  ;  and,  kneeling  with  her  beside 

that  pale  form,  he  said :  "  Here  I  invoke  the  just-parted  spirit 

to  witness  the  sincerity  of  my  vows.     Here  I  solemnly  dedicate 

to  you  the  heart  you  have  redeemed  ;    and,  as   I  prove  true  to 

you,  Ellen,  so  my   God,  in  the  hour  of   my  extremest  need,   be 

to  me."     He  bowed  his  head  a  moment  upon  her  clasped  hands 

and  then  rising,  left  the  room.     But  there  was  a  beautiful  joy 

in  heaven,  over  the  return  of  that  wandering  soul  ?   and  a  spirit 

hovered  round  him  evermore,  to  strengthen  him  in  temptation, 

to  confirm  all  his  better  promptings,  and  to  cheer  him  by  sweet 

whispers  of  confidence  and  hope.     It  was  the  spirit  of  that 

mother  guarding,  through  him,  the  safety  and  happiness  of  her 

child. 

****** 

Years  had  gone  by  ;  when,  once  more  passing  through  the  t 
city,  I  saw  a  numerous  company  assembled  in  one  of  the  princely 
mansions  that  may  be  found  there.  Curiosity  drew  me  in  ;  and 
there  I  beheld  a  bridal  scene.  A  young  man  of  noble  bearing, 
had  just  received  his  fair  young  bride  from  the  hands  of  a  fine 
matronly  woman,  I  instantly  knew  to  be  his  mother.  She  drew 
the  bright  young  creature  to  her  arms,  ere  she  relinquished  her 
hand  ;  and  as  she  parted  away  the  rich  sunny  curls  to  kiss  her 
white  brow,  I  saw  it  was  Ellen — the  poor,  despised,  and  forsaken 
orphan. 

Her  beauty  and  her  fine  intellect,  had  been  cherished,  and 
expanded  into  maturity  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances. 


THE    CHEAP    DRESS-MAKER.  161 

ces.  The  Profligate  had  become  true  to  his  better  nature  ;  and 
as  he  took  her  from  his  mother's  hand,  he  whispered  in  her  ear : 
"  All  that  I  am,  dear  mother,  we  owe  to  her.  She  arrested  me 
in  my  headlong  career.  She  saved  me  from  utter  ruin  !  When 
I  give  to  your  arms  a  daughter,  bless  her,  0,  bless  her ;  dear 
mother  !  for  she  has  restored  to  you  a  lost  son  ! " 

Loveliest  among  the  lovely — eminent  among  the  gifted — 
cherished  by  the  mother — almost  adored  by  the  son — Ellen  has 
become  the  center  of  a  large  circle  of  admiring  and  loving 
friends ;  of  grateful  and  affectionate  dependants ;  to  whom  she 
is  a  minister  of  all  good  things.  She  is  continually  seeking  out 
the  unfortunate  of  her  own  sex,  and  she  leads  the  erring  back 
to  virtue  with  the  sweetest  words  of  encouragement — even  to 
the  vilest ;  succoring  the  unprotected  ;  and,  with  angel  charity, 
lifting  up  the  fallen.  Such  is  the  type  of  her  life.  Her  virtue 
is  too  intrinsically  pure  for  contamination.  Her  robes  are  of 
such  texture  as  receives  no  spot  from  contact  with  the  polluted ; 
and  the  fulness  of  blessing  from  many  a  redeemed  soul,  is  her 
reward.  When  this  spirit  becomes  universal  among  her  sex,  the 
great  day  of  the  World's  Kedemption  will  have  dawned. 


Dean  Swift  says:  "  It  is  with  little-souled  people  as  it  is 
with  narrow-necked  bottles  ;  the  less  they  have  in  them,  the 
more  noise  they  make  in  pouring  out." 


The  whole  use  of  a  hat  is  probably  not  generally  known — 
it  is  of  more  use  than  covering  the  head.  If,  when  a  person 
falls  overboard,  he  had  presence  of  mind  to  instantly  take  off 
his  hat,  and  hold  the  rim  of  it  to  his  chin,  so  that  the  hollow 
would  be  upward,  it  would  keep  him  above  the  water  as  long 
as  ever  he  could  hold  it.  This  has  been  tried  and  proved 
correct. 


A  deaf  and  dumb  person  being  asked  what  was  his  idea  of 
forgiveness,  took  the  pencil  and  wrote :  It  is  the  odor  which 
flowers  yield  when  trampled  upon. 


TO  A  LADY  FEIEND. 


BY  HENRY   JACOB. 


Wees  I  a  poet,  Heaven  blessed  ! 

To  sing  in  verse  divinely, 
I'd  speak  of  woman's  love  and  grace 

In  language  more  sublimely. 
But  what  poor  art  I'm  gifted  with, 

Let  me  employ  sincerely, 
And  give  my  friend  what  proof  I  can, 

Her  worth  is  prized  most  dearly. 
To  be  a  mother — sacred  task 

To  guide  the  child  in  youth ; 
To  give  it  wisdom  and  support — 

To  teach  it  love  and  truth. 
0  God!     Thy  holy  Ordinance 

All  mothers  should  possess ; 
For  who  are  strong  without  Thy  aid — 

How  they  Thy  Law  impress  ? 
That  mother  in  whose  heart  Thy  Law 

Is  registered  secure, 
Can  pass  through  ways  beset  with  sin, 

Yet  keep  her  children  pure. 
And  0  what  kind  reward  must  be 

Bestowed  upon  that  soul, 
Whom  from  God's  hand  receives  a  trust, 

Returns  it  pure  and  whole. 
0  woman  dear !     All  earth  should  bless, 

All  earth  should  cherish  ye ; 
Without  thy  grace  and  goodness  here, 

Where  would  man's  Heaven  be  ? 
Lost  as  the  wreck  afloat  at  sea, 

His  soul  would  drift  astray ; 
But  cherished  by  dear  woman's  love, 

Man's  soul  finds  Heaven's  way. 
Although  I  live  in  hermitage, 

I  view  the  world  around, 
And  see  no  joys  to  gladden  man 

Where  woman  is  not  found. 
Be  happy  then,  in  this  belief, 

No  matter  what  thy  care, 
That  man's  divinest  blessing  is 
That  woman's  good  and  fair. 


u% 


THE     LILIPUTIAN     LILY. 

(Lilium  Parwwm.)— KELLOGG. 


BY    DR.    A.    KELLOGG. 


[  For   illustration,   see  pagel46.  ] 

"  Consider  the  lilies  how  they  grow  !  "  is  the  divine  admonition 
to -the  weary  heavy-laden  wanderers.  God  careth  for  them  and 
ns ;  therefore  we  will  confide  in  our  Heavenly  Father's  benificent 
providence.  His  hand  has  not  only  made,  but  signally  conse- 
crated the  memory  of  these  beautiful  creations.  Earthly  em- 
blems of  faith  and  love!  how  sweetly  do  they  inspire  and  charm 
the  heart  of  humanity  !  for  all  the  world  knows,  loves,  and 
cherishes  them.  Any  new  species  therefore  of  lilial  lineage  has 
a  world-wide  interest.  It  affords  us  much  pleasure  to  acknow- 
ledge our  obligations  to  Mr.  H.  Gr.  Bloomer,  Botanical  Curator 
to  the  California  Acad,  of  Nat.  Sciences,  for  his  worthy  zeal  in 
cultivating  this  little  native  lily,  from  which  our  sketch  has  been 
taken. 

The  plant  is  from  the  Sierra  Nevada  Mountains  of  California, 
on  the  route  to  Washoe.  As  its  name  indicates,  it  is  one  of  the 
least  lilies  known  to  us  ;  and  although,  as  we  are  informed,  it  is 
often  somewhat  larger  in  its  native  soil,  still  it  is  relatively,  to 
others  of  the  same  family,  always  very  small. 

The  scattered  leaves  and  erect  flowers,  are  the  chief  charac- 
teristic features  ;  which,  to  the  popular  mind,  are  sufficiently 
obvious.  All  other  lilies  of  the  Pacific  slope,  have  more  or  less 
nodding  flowers ;  (and  whirled  leaves) — the  L.  Philadelphicum  and 
L.  Catesbeii  of  the  Atlantic  States,  it  is  true,  have,  erect  flowers ; 
but  they  are  quite  distinct.  We  hope  soon  to  have  an  opportu- 
nity of  examining  the  bulb. 

Technical  description. — Stem  cylindrical,  nearly  smooth,  1J  to 
3  feet  high.  Leaves  scattered,  oblanceolate,  sub-acute  or  acute, 
smooth  above,  3-nerved,  margins  scabrulose ;  nerves  smooth 
beneath,  lamina  very  minutely  scabrulose  below ;  bracts  leafy. 

Flowers  about  5,  whirled  in  3's  and  mostly  alternate  above, 


164  THE    HESPERIAN. 


erect,  tuhular-bell-shaped,  sepals  revolute  above  the  middle ; 
tube  and  throat  yellow  and  purple  spotted  within ;  revolute  por- 
tion red,  with  well  defined  limits  ;  the  3  inner  petals  somewhat 
narrower,  smooth  and  slightly  grooved  above  ;  outer  broader 
sepals  plain,  somewhat  more  spotted. 

Pistil  scarcely  a  little  longer ;  stigma  undivided ;  stamens  sub- 
equal,  regularly  spreading  ;  ovaiy  half  the  length  of  the  style. 


Note. — Since  the  former  was  in  type,  we  have  received 
specimens  from  the  mountains,  by  Mr.  Stivers.  Some  of 
these  we  find  with  lanceolate  acute  and  acuminate  leaves,  mar- 
gins cilliate ;  others  as  described  ;  but  sometimes  obscurely  5  to 
7-nerved.  The  flowers  are  even  smaller  than  our  cultivated  one 
here  figured  ;  but  less  revolute. 

The  bulbs  are  loosely  scaley,  similar  to  other  lilies.  The 
origin  of  the  stem  nearly  central. 

It  is  worthy  of  notice  in  this  connection,  that  the  White 
Lady  Washington  Lily  of  California,  (L.  Washingtonianum. — 
Kellogg,)  see  Vol.  3,  No.  2,  Hesperian,  has  a  somewhat  rhizo- 
matic  oblong  bulb,  horizontally  increasing  westwardly — stems 
arising  from  the  west  end,  and  gently  curved  east  at  the  base  ; 
the  very  long  lance-linear  acute  and  acuminate  scales  inclined 
from  the  stem  in  a  similar  direction.  Will  those  who  have 
ample  opportunity  please  verify  or  correct  these  observations. 
We  frequently  hear  of  very  magnificent  plants  of  this  rare  lily, 
5  or  6  feet  high,  with  30  or  more  flowers. 


Whenever  political  speculations,  instead  of  preparing  us  to 
be  useful  to  society,  and  to  promote^the  happiness  of  mankind, 
are  only  systems  for  gratifying  private  ambition,  and  promoting 
private  interests  at  public  expense,  they  deserve  to  be  burnt,  and 
the  authors  of  them  to  starve,  like  Machiavel  in  a  jail. 


A  good  education  is  a  better  safe-guard  for  liberty  than  a 
standing  army  or  severe  laws. 


MUSIC. 

BY   MRS.   E.    A.    SIMONTON  PAGE. 


To  Creation's  starry  rim 

Vibrate  rich,  melodious  voices, 

As  wide  Universe  rejoices. 
Up  the  midnight  dim, 
Silence  lifts  its  mystic  hymn. 

Through  the  lapse  of  ages  vernal, 

Grand  Te  Deums  rise  eternal. 

Music  trills  and  gushes  where 
White  cascades  in  pearly  fringes, 
Through  the  mountain's  purple  tinges, 

Drop  with  cadence  rare  ; 

Stirring  all  the  vibrant  air, 
Like  the  rippling  notes  of  laughter, — 
Silvery  echoes  tripping  after. 

Music  solemn  sweeps  and  dwells 
In  the  chilly  ocean  surges — 
Mighty,  everlasting  dirges, 

Wail  of  passing  bells. 

Its  sad  moaning  falls  and  swells, 
Lulling  'neath  the  murmurous  billows 
Forms  the  swaying  sea-moss  pillows. 

Music  trembles  where  the  breeze 
Its  mysterious  chant  is  waking ; 
Eustling  flowers  and  grasses  making 

Dreamy  symphonies. 

Then  with  tremulous  stir  the  tree3 
Leaf  by  leaf,  with  sway  sonorous, 
Swell  the  grand,  majestic  chorus. 

Music  raves  and  muttereth 
In  fierce  winds,  like  martial  clangors 
Oversweeping  mortal  languors — 

Victory  and  death, 

Dirge  and  paean  in  a  breath  ! 
Shriek,  and  wail,  and  shout  and  sighing, 
In  discordant  minors  dying. 

Music  wakes  the  rill  that  trips 
Through  the  crimson-hearted  Summers, 


166  THE    HESPERIAN. 


In  low,  broken,  odorous  murmurs, 
As  from  maiden's  lips 
Falls  love's  dear  apocalypse — 
Echo,  like  some  raptured  lover, 
Sings  the  strain  by  snatches  over. 

Music  murmurs  where  the  rain 
Fitful  requiems  seems  swelling, 
Like  a  wordless  anguish  telling 

Some  heart's  pain, — 

Tears  and  sobs  the  wild  refrain. 
Muttering  low,  the  deep-voiced  thunder, 
Eolls  grand  diapasons  under. 

Music  inharmonious  springs 
From  each  changeful,  restless  spirit — 
Only  God  Supreme  can  hear  it ! 

Every  moment  wrings 

Varying  murmurs  from  the  strings. 
Blest  that  life  whose  pure  emotion 
Seems  one  psalm  of  sweet  devotion. 


SCIENTIFIC    NOTICES. 


ELECTRICITY   OF  WOOD. 

M.  Eatt,  a  cabinet-maker,  when  planing  wood,  remarked 
that  several  chips  manifested  electric  phenomena. 

By  means  of  an  electrometer  he  ascertained,  that  in  certain 
species,  especially  those  of  America,  the  electricity  was  positive, 
while  in  others  it  was  negative,  and  this  particularly  charac- 
terized the  French  woods. 

SOUNDS   CAUSED   BY  ELECTRICITY. 

M.  Sellier  has  found  it  sufficient  to  place  an  electric  dia- 
mond upon  a  pane  of  glass  in  order  to  produce  sounds. 

When  a  well  polished  sewing  needle,  suspended  from  a  hair, 
is  placed  in  a  glass  bowl  filled  with  an  acid,  sulphate  of  copper? 
the  bowl  crackles,  even  after  the  needle  has  been  withdrawn  and 
the  liquid  poured  out. 

Small  currents  of  common  electricity  become  perceptible  to 
the  ear,  by  the  means  of  wheaten  straw,  struck  upon  a  drum  of 
vegetable  paper. 


THE    NOBLENESS     OF    WO  M  AN. 


Dear  Madam, — Believing  that  the  following  sketch  may  be  interesting 
to  your  readers,  at  least,  such  of  them  as  have  made  themselves  acquainted 
with  "  Shahmah  in  Pursuit  of  Freedom,"  I  send  it  for  publication  in  your 
Magazine.  It  is  the  report  nf  one  who  actually  stood  on  the  spot,  and  was 
not  only  a  witness,  but  an  actor  in  the  most  thrilling  and  horrible  scene  of  the 
storm  and  shipwreck,  described  in  the  latter  part  of  the  work  referred  to.  It 
was  translated  from  the  Portuguese,  by  a  friend  who  was  in  Rio  at  the  time, 
and  witnessed  and  participated  in  the  unparalleled  enthusiasm,  with  which 
Simao,  the  hero  of  the  tragedy,  was  received  and  honored. 

Author  op  Shahmah. 


Among  the  many  beautiful  episodes  which  were  connected  with 
the  great  Tragedy  of  the  Pernambucana,  there  were  none  more 
remarkable  than  the  following.  It  is  with  the  highest  degree  of 
pleasure,  that  we  record  the  heroic  conduct  of  a  beautiful  young 
lady.  On  board  the  ill-fated  steamer  was  a  widow  with  her 
only  child,  a  daughter.  In  the  short  space  of  one  3rear,  she  had 
been  called  to  follow  to  the  grave  her  husband  and  five  children, 
three  daughters  and  two  sons.  The  fell  Destroyer  had  mounted 
the  "Pale  Horse"  and  gone  forth,  turning  not  to  the  right 
hand  or  left — passing  not  on  "  the  other  side,"  but  directly 
through  their  midst,  and  every  near  relative  on  earth,  but  this 
one,  had  fallen  before  him.  Only  her  daughter  was  left.  Only 
her  mother  and  a  tender  and  devoted  lover  had  been  left  to  the 
daughter  ;  and  they  claimed  her  tenderest  and  purest  affection. 

These  two*  the  mother  and  daughter,  had  been  down  to  Rio 
Grande,  spending  a  few  weeks  for  a  change  of  air  and  scene. 
They  were  now  returning  to  -their  old  homestead,  where  they 
expected  to  be  joined  by  the  beloved  of  her  affections.  Little 
did  they  dream  of  the  scenes  of  woe  and  distress  through  which 
they  had  to  pass. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  when  the  steamer  struck,  the 
beautiful  Elonore  rose  from  her  couch,  where  she  had  fallen 
utterly  overcome  with  fatigue  and  anxiety,  when  the  weather 
had  been  pronounced  more  favorable  on  the  evening  before  ;  and 


168 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


in  spite  of  the  awful  terrors  of  the  night,  she  had  slept  soundly. 
Having  made  her  simple  toilet,  she  assisted  her  mother  to  dress  ; 
and  then  with  their  arms  clasped  around,  to  support  each  other 
in  the  rocking  and  tumbling  of  the  vessel,  they  knelt  to  mingle 
prayers,  and  ask  the  blessing  of  their  Heavenly  Father. 

With  words  Gf  encouragement  the  young  Elonore  persuaded 
her  mother  to  keep  her  state-room  till  she  called  her.  Then  the 
noble,  unselfish,  and  heroic  girl  set  off  on  her  mission  of  good- 
ness. With  a  heart  full  of  all  sweet  affection,  a  soul  overflowing 
with  the  richest  charity,  and  a  bosom  heaving  with  the  greatness 
of  her  love,  she  -walked  amidst  that  awful  scene,  cheering  all 
with  a  wrord  of  kindness,  or  hope,  or  trust.  And  how  lovely 
did  she  appear,  with  her  pale  cheek  of  lily  whiteness,  and  her 
black  and  glossy  hair,  streaming  on  the  wind,  now  blown  back 
from  her  fair  brow,  now  floating  like  a  dark  cloud  around  her 
beautiful  forehead. 

There  was  a  charm  in  her  cheering  words — there  was  a 
power  in  her  very  presence,  which  in  spite  of  the  horrors,  in- 
fused an  unwonted  degree  of  hope  and  trust.  Her  beauty,  her 
sublime  faith,  her  divine  sweetness  of  speech  and  manner,  ap- 
peared superhuman.  It  seemed  as  if  some  benignant  angel  had 
inspired  and  spoken  through  this  gentle,  delicate,  and  apparently 
timid  girl,  who  till  then  had  never  felt  the"  cold  wind  blowing 
too  rudely  on  her  soft  and  tender  form.  She  must  have  been — 
she  ivas  inspired.  This  truly  heroic  girl  not  only  sustained  her- 
self but  charmed  and  blessed  others ;  for  she  infused  into  them 
a  portion  of  the  pure  and  exalted  sentiment  which  warmed  and 
strengthened  her  own  soul — a  deep  faith  that  beheld  good  in  all 
things — believing  it  present  although  unseen,  and,  recognizing 
its  ministries,  even  in  the  apparent  evils  which  now  overwhelmed 
them  with  inconceivable  anguish  and  woe.  This  exalted  senti- 
ment was  expressed — not  only  in  the  light  of  her  beautiful  dark 
eyes — not  only  in  every  look  and  gesture,  as  she  flitted  over  the 
rocking  vessel,  like  a  dove  from  the  Ark  of  Peace,  but  in  her 
low  and  murmuring  words,  when  for  a  moment  her  motions 
were  arrested,  she  would  whisper  :  "  Father,  we  are  thine — all 
thine !  "     How  beautiful,  how  comprehensive  !  the  paternal  re- 


THE   NOBLENESS    OF   WOMAN.  169 

lationship — the  filial  faith  and  trust — all  in  these  five  short 
words  ! 

When  the  vessel  had  struck,  and  the  brave  Simao  had  made 
the  passage  to  the  shore,  this  noble  girl  assisted  every  one  of  the 
aged  and  sick  to  make  the  passage  first.  After  great  exertion 
in  passing  to  and  fro  to  different  parts  of  the  ship  (for  any  move- 
ment required  a  continual  watch,  and  the  exercise  of  great  mus- 
cular effort  to  be  secure,)  she  still  adhered  unshrinkingly  to  her 
work  of  self-sacrifice  and  love. 

At  length  she  had  the  pleasure  of  announcing  to  her  mother 
that  her  turn  had  come.  But  the  mother,  refusing  to  avail  her- 
self of  her  daughter's  generosity,  urged  her  to  go  first. 

"  You  are  young,  dear  Elonore,"  said  she;  "full  of  health 
and  hope,  in  the  very  spring-tide  of  life.  You  have  one  await- 
ing your  return,  to  be  united  to  you  forever.  He  is  noble  and 
worthy.  Let  us  try  and  be  just  to  him.  Here  is  none  but  you 
to  mourn  my  loss.  My  children  and  husband  are  gone  before 
me.  It  is  more  reasonable,  proper  and  just,  that  the  few  re- 
maining years  should  be  taken  from  me,  than  that  you  should  be 
deprived  of  all.  And  it  is  not  your  good,  alone,  that  I  am  seek- 
ing. Your  own  Salvator's  heart  will  be  torn  and  broken,  if  he 
should  thus  lose  you.  No ;  it  must  not  be,  Elonore,  my  bright 
and  beautiful — my  last  and  best — never  shall  it  be  said — never 
shall  it  he — that  your  bright,  young  life  has  been  sacrificed  to 
your  mother's  desire  to  live.  If  it  were  so,  my  life  would  always 
be  a  source  of  misery.  Your  watery  grave  would  be  ever  be- 
fore my  eyes.  My  tears  would  be  a  never  failing  stream.  No, 
Elonore  ;  go,  I  beseech  of  you  !  Go  ;  I  command  you." 

The  beautiful  girl  dropped  on  her  knees  before  her  mother  ; 
and  clasping  her  sacred  form,  looked  up  with  tearful  eyes. 

"  Dear  mother,"  she  said  ;  "  have  I  not  been  always  obedi- 
ent— have  I  not  rejoiced  to  do  your  bidding?  " 

"  Never  my  daughter,  until  this  unhappy  moment  have  you 
disobeyed  me ;  answered  the  mother ;  and  she  drew  the  bright 
form  to  her  heart ;  and  folding  her  arms  about  her,  she  whispered 
in  low,  husky  tones;  "let  it  not  be  now.  Go,  my  daughter. 
Go,  and  be  happy." 


170  THE    HESPERIAN. 


For  a  moment,  when  they  felt  the  two  hearts,  whose  very 
heats  had  so  long  run  parallel,  throbbing  thus  together,  they 
were  completely  overcome ;  and  they  wept  and  sobbed  in  each 
other's  arms. 

But  Elonore,  feeling  that  the  indulgence  would  unnerve  them 
both,  slid  gently  from  her  mother's  arms.  Once  more  falling  on 
her  knees  ;  and  with  the  tears  still  streaming  down  her  cheeks, 
she  said : 

"  Mother,  mother  !  hear  me  !  For  eighteen  years  you  have 
nurtured,  and  watched  over,  and  protected  me,  with  unceasing 
love  and  care.  In  all  this  time  you  have  never  seen  one  act  of 
disobedience.  O,  Mother !  your  life  gave  life  to  me ;  and  forgive 
me  now  if  I  must,  even  contrary  to  your  wishes,  place  it  before 
mine.  I  have  been  fed  and  strengthened  by  the  warm  milk  from 
your  bosom ;  and  I  have  no  right' to  accept  the  sacrifice  you  offer 
— your  life  for  mine  !  O,  mother !  I  should  hate  myself — I  should 
curse  my  life,  and  forever  pray  for  death,  if  I  believed  it  possible 
I  could  be  guilty  of  such  a  wrong !  Salvator,  himself,  would 
despise  and  spurn  me,  as  a  hateful  object.  He  would  see  shame 
stamped  on  my  down-cast  look,  cowardice  in  my  forehead,  and 
selfishness  in  every  feature.  I  could  never  see  him.  No  ;  I 
could  never  look  in  his  manly  face  again.  Mother,  I  have  no 
fear  of  death.  What  is  the  world  to  come  but  a  sweet  rest  in  the 
bosom  of  my  Heavenly  Father  ?  What  is  death  but  the  waking 
to  a  new  life  in  Christ  ?  What  is  the  leap  into  eternity,  but  to 
be  received  in  the  arms  of  angels,  and  borne  to  the  abode  of 
saints?  ISTo,  mother,  forgive,  do  forgive  me;  but  I  shall  not  obey 
you.  So  long  as  there  is  life  in  me,  I  will  exert  all  the  strength 
I  have  to  bless  and  save  you.  Despair  shall  never  seize  me — 
hope  shall  not  desert  me;  nor  the  deep  faith  of  my  bosom  fail. 
All  that  I  am,  have,  expect,  or  may  ever  command,  is  yours  ;  and 
to  you  it  shall  be  devoted,  O,  my  mother  !  Elonore  de  Yelonice 
is  your  daughter — she  is  her  father's  noble  child ;  and  she  will 
never  cast  the  stain  of  a  weak  and  selfish  meanness  upon  her 
high  lineage.  No  ;  the  angry  voice  of  my  father  would  cry  out 
from  the  grave  ;  the  sound  of  my  noble  brothers'  curse  would  be 
borne  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  to  upbraid  and  disown  me  ;  God 
would  not  listen  to  my  prayers ;  the  Saints  would  refuse  inter- 


THE   NOBLENESS    OF   WOMAN.  171 

cession,  and  their  divine  consolation  and  rnercy  would  be  denied 
me." 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  calmer  voice  and 
manner,  added : 

"  And  besides,  mother,  only  hear  this ;  I  am  able  to  help  my- 
self off ;  and  you  are  not.  If  I  leave,  I  shall  certainly  lose  you. 
If  you  leave  me,  you  will  almost  certainly  find  me  restored  to 
you — and  that  with  a  tenfold  blessing." 

She  arose  from  her  knees  ;  and  taking  her  mother  in  her  arms, 
she  kissed  and  blessed  her  while  the  matron,  who  had  been 
piteously  weeping  all  this  time,  being  completely  subdued,  could 
make  no  resistance ;  and  she  was  borne  to  the  side  of  the  ship  in 
order  to  be  ready  when  the  brave  Simao  should  return. 

When  Elonore  assisted  her  mother  over  the  side  she  simply 
said:  "If  we  meet  no  more,  you  and  my  Salvator  will  be  in 
my  last  prayer." 

This  noble  and  devoted  young  creature  assisted  two  other 
young  ladies,  and  then  she  consented  to  take  her  chance.  This 
is  the  same  heroic  girl  who  entreated  Simao  to  let  her  go,  and 
save  his  own  life  ;  but  the  brave  sailor  fought  with  desperation? 
and  finally  triumphed ;  though  he  reached  the  land  in  a  very 
exhausted  state,  as  has  already  been  rehearsed  in  many  of  these 
reports. 

But  what  manly  form  is  that,  standing  on  the  brow  of  a  high 
rock,  close  by  the  shrinking  and  trenibiing  form  of  the  agonized 
mother  ?  He  has  been  with  great  difficulty  restrained  from  en- 
tering the  sea  for  the  purpose  of  rescuing  Elonore,  so  maddened 
had  he  become  by  her  non-appearance  at  the  last  arrival.  He 
stands  with  a  pocket  telescope,  watching  every  movement.  He 
sees  them  leave  the  ship.  He  notes  every  point  of  progress. 
He  writhes  in  the  struggle  of  the  brave  sailor ;  and  when  he  saw 
that  Elonore  was  dashed  by  a  terrible  sea  from  the  arms  of 
Simao,  the  telescope  fell  from  his  hand,  and  he  at  once  prepared 
to  plunge  in  the  boiling  flood.  But,  on  seeing  that  Simao  plunged 
so  vigorously  and  boldly  after  her,  he  paused,  and  in  a  moment 
had  the  unspeakable  joy  to  know  that  he  had  regained  both  her 
and  the  cable. 

When  Simao  drew  near  the  beach,  with  the  spring  of  a  tiger 
he  leaped  down  from  the  rock  to  assist  them.     In  his  stalwart 


172  THE     HESPEKIAN. 


arms  lie  clasped  them  both,  and  half  led  and  half  bore  them 
from  the  rapidly  approaching  danger. 

And  Salvator  de  Yega  folded  the  noble  and  heroic  girl  to  his 
bosom,  with  a  joj  and  pride  in  her  magnanimous  conduct  which, 
if  possible,  greatly  enhanced  his  former  love.  He  had  been 
called  unexpectedly  to  Laquena,  where  he  was  waiting  for  the 
arrival  of  the  steamer,  thinking  he  should  then  rejoin  his  Elonore 
and  her  mother,  and  escort  them  home.  But,  by  one  of  those 
unaccountable  impressions,  which  almost  every  one  has  observed, 
and  which  sometimes  operate  with  an  irresistible  force  and  author- 
ity, he  was  led,  even  against  what  seemed  to  be  his  better  reason, 
to  leave  the  place,  and  that  at  almost  the  very  time  when  the 
Pernambucana  was  due,  and  join  a  hunting  band,  whose  pro- 
posed excursion  would  take  him  too  far  south,  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  things,  for  him  to  think  of  joining  her.  And  yet  his 
convictions  were  overborne,  and  in  being  taken  apparently  out  of 
the  way,  he  was  brought  into  her  immediate  neighborhood. 
Hearing  of  the  shipwreck,  he  had  hurried  to  the  shore  just  in 
time  to  witness  the  arrival  of  the  exhausted  mother  on  the  top  of 
the  rock-,  whither  she  had  crept  to  gain  the  earliest  tidings  of  her 
beloved  child.  With  what  agony  he  beheld  the  struggle  cannot 
be  fitly  conceived,  and  all  language  fails  to  depict  the  soul-har- 
rowing scene. 

This  noble  young  man  embraced  and  claimed  Simao  as  a  bro- 
ther. He  offered  him  his  friendship,  at  the  same  time  tendering 
to  him  the  freedom  of  hie  house.  He  afterward,  settled  a  fine 
estate  on  him  and  his  family,  that  no  reverse  of  fortune  might 
ever  again  reduce  him  to  want,  for  with  such  a  heart  as  that  of 
Simao  one  could  not  long  remain  rich.  He  showered  down  his 
wealth  upon  all  who  needed  it,  and  to  deserve  assistance  was  with 
his  nobleness  the  surety  of  obtaining  it. 

The  meeting  of  the  heroic  girl  with  her  noble  mother  was  too 
affecting — too  sacred — for  even  the  rescued  passengers  to  look 
upon,  and  all  turned  away,  until  the  call  of  Salvator  brought  them 
to  his  assistance.  Then  they  saw  that  the  too  intense  strain  of  the 
heart  had  given  way.     They  had  fainted  in  each  others  arms. 

There  were,  doubtless,  many  other  scenes  which  seemed  more 
like  a  story  of  romance  than  the  simple  truth. 


WORK   IS   WORSHIP.  173 


WORK     IS     WORSHIP. 


An  extract  from  Joan  of  Arc. 

BY  FANNY  GREEN. 


The  breath,  and  bloom,  and  music  of  the  Spring, 
At  open  door  and  window  stealing  in, 
With  their  sweet  voices  calling,  wooed  the  step 
*Of  loving  children  outward  ;  but  there  came 
No  word  of  respite  unto  little  Joan. 
Until  the  noonday  sunshine,  had  looked  down 
From  the  wide  chimney,  and  along  the  floor, 
Lay  in  a  straight  line  from  the  southern  window. 
Still,  with  a  light  step,  flitting  to  and  fro, 
She  held  her  silent,  never-changing  walk 
Before  the  spinning  wheel.     While  thus  constrained 
By  her  material  duty  in  the  task, 
Which  never  had  been  wrought,  until  that  day, 
She  sighed  for  freedom.     All  the  living  forms 
Of  Earth  and  Air,  with  many  a  gladsome  song, 
Poured  forth  their  praise.     She  only  was  enslaved. 
But  oft  in  her  abstraction,  she  would  go 
Out  in  the  aisles,  of  dim,  religious  wood, 
Till  she  forgot  her  task,  and  twisted  off 
The  filmy  thread,  that  ran  unevenly, 
As  if  it  had  been  jostled  by  her  thoughts, 
So  she  went  on,  until  her  mother's  chiding 
Kecalled  her. 

Isabeau. 
See,  now,  'tis  all  awry  ! 
Turn  out  the  spindle  point,  and  mind  your  work ; 
For  not  one  crumb  of  supper  shall  you  have,' 
Until  the  skein  is  off !     Look  there  again  ! 
It  goes  off  like  a  pack-thread  !  now  it  slopes 
Into  a  hair-like  film  !     Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 
Indeed  but  thou  art  precious  wonderful, 
With  a  most  marvelous  vision  !     But  I'd  like, 
As  Jean  says  oft  and  truly — I  would  like 
First  sight  before  the  second  ;  common  sense 
To  do  the  common  things  of  every  day, 


174  THE    HESPERIAN. 


Rather  than  this  great  power  of  conjuring  up 
Something  uncommon,  and  so  much  unlike 
Good  decent  people,  that  they  hardly  know  you 
To  be  one  of  themselves.     I  say  ;tis  naught. 
There,  go  your  ways  ;  for  you  are  getting  useless  ! 
Fie  !  Joan  !  I  am  ashamed." 

The  weeping  eyes 
Hid  in  her  apron,  and,  without  one  word, 
The  child  sat  down  a  moment,  as  the  mother 
Proceeded  to  adjust  the  spinning-wheel, 
And  then  went  out  and  left  her  to  the  struggle. 
How  pitiful  it  was  !     The  tender  soul, 
In  the  first  day-spring  of  its  early  freedom, 
When  it  had  only  tasted  for  itself 
Fountains  of  love  and  beauty  that  were  open 
To  angel  children,  thus  to  be  arrested, 
Was  stricken  with  a  deep  and  deadly  fear. 
'Twas  out  of  tune  with  Nature.     Could  she  bind 
The  rapturous  pulses  that  were  throbbing  so 
To  join  the  world-wide  chorus  of  the  spring  ? 
Was  this  the  good  God  she  had  learned  to  worship, 
Who  did  not  bid  the  mother  send  her  forth 
Into  the  woods  and  waysides,  to  be  happy 
With  every  other  young  and  yearning  creature 
That  pined  for  sunshine,  air,  and  bloom,  and  music — 
To  wander  free  beneath  the  forest  arches, 
Or  the  broad  banners  of  the  golden  light  ? 
Thus  was  her  strong  faith  stung  with  unbelief, 
And  rudely  shaken  from  its  simple  trust. 
Then  with  what  yearning  did  her  soul  essay 
To  burst  its  bonds  ;  could  she  but  only  die  ! 
Then  she  might  pray  with  angels,  sing  with  cherubs — 
Once  more  unfurl  her  buoyant  wings  and  fly 
Back  to  the  blessed  light  and  air  ot  Heaven  ! 
How  could  she  live  ?     0,  bitterer  than  death 
Was  all  this  struggle  and  corrosive  care ! 
The  sudden  tears  were  dried ;  the  heavy  eyes 
Looking  as  if  the  last  clear  light  of  hope 
Were  dead  within  them.     Then  the  smothered  sobs, 
Strengthening  and  deepening,  with  a  gradual  strain 
Bore  on  the  aching  heart,  until  it  lay 
As  if  itself  were  turned  to  living  stone, 
And  thus  bound  in  its  anguish. 

"Daughter  Joan !" 
A  sweet  voice  spake  w ithin  her,  and  the  pang 


WORK  IS   WORSHIP.  175 


That  held  her  heart-strings  every  fibre  strained 
To  its  extremest  tension,  as  if  touched 
And  softened  by  some  pure  annointing  oil, 
Gently  gave  way.     Then  a  delicious  calm 
Filled  her  whole  being  with  a  tender  sense 
Of  life,  and  love,  and  beauty. 

Bowing  down 
Before  the  unseen  Presence,  whose  soft  light 
In  white  waves  lay  around  her,  visible, 
And  yet  interior  to  the  golden  sunshine. 
Her  rigid  lips  were  mellowed  into  sound. 

Joan. 
Who  art  thou  1 

Voice. 
Michael,  thy  angel  friend. 

Joan. 
Then  tell,  0,  tell  me,  whither  shall  I  fly 
That  I  may  ease  my  aching  soul  with  prayer  7 
I  cannot  live !  0,  better  far  to  die 
Than  stay  in  such  a  bleak  and  barren  world — 
So  dark  and  noisome.     0,  I  almost  loathe  it! 
She  shuddered  as  she  spoke ;  and  then  the  tears, 
Which  had  been  pent  so  long,  burst  forth  again. 
The  angel — now  distinctly  visible — 
Stood  lovingly  before  her,  with  his  eyes 
Fixed  on  her  struggling  form.     The  paroxysm, 
Thus  quietly  subsiding,  left  her  still 
And  passive  to  the  influence  of  the  power,  when  thus  he  spoke 

Michael. 
Look  up,  thou  loving  child, 
And  learn  the  wisdom  of  a  higher  worship  ; 
For  empty  prayer  is  vain.     The  bended  knee, 
The  ritual,  long  and  harsh ;  the  groaning  penance, 
Are  naught,  unless  they  mate  the  active  hand — 
The  willing  heart.     Know,  then,  that  work  is  prayer  ! 
Behold  thyself,  a  helpless  being,  cast 
Upon  a  world  of  varied  stores  and  uses. 
To  bring  out  and  appropriate  from  these 
Shelter,  and  food  and  raiment — simplest  needs — 
There  must  be  labor.     Hence  it  is  ordained 
That  work  is  good  ;  for  He  who  made  the  body, 


176  THE   HESPERIAN. 


And  gave  it  to  the  keeping  of  a  soul, 

Provided  that  its  nurture  should  expand, 

Refine*  and  elevate  the  finer  life. 

It  is  the  Law  of  Nature.     Everything 

Must  work  if  it  would  live.     The  very  bird8, 

That  seem  so  idle,  singiug  all  the  day, 

Must  gather  food,  build  nests,  and  rear  their  young. 

Believe  me,  daughter,  labor  is  ennobling, 

And  he  who  shuns  it,  though  in  kingly  courts, 

Will  lose  the  proper  strength  and  full  proportions 

Of  a  true  human  being. 

Joan. 
Strange  it  is 
That  what  is  hard  and  irksome  can  be  good. 

Michael. 
This  is  a  problem  unto  wiser  hearts 
Than  thine,  my  daughter.     Yet,  I  pray  thee,  listen. 
For  toils  and  struggles,  and  temptations,  all 
When  rightly  borne,  suffered,  and  overcome, 
Are  woven,  gem-like,  in  the  spirit's  crown, 
And  bitterest  tears  impearl  it.     Go,  my  child, 
To  lead  an  active  worship.    Work  is  Praise. 

Joan. 
0,  shining  one !  I  bless  thee  for  the  light ! 
A  flood  pours  in  upon  my  grateful  soul, 
More  beauteous  for  the  shadows  that  have  hung 
In  midnight  darkness  round  me.     God  is  good, 
And  I  will  serve  him  with  the  working  hand. 
She  stood  before  him,  with  her  lifted  eyes 
Eadiant  and  overflowing  with  the  sunshine, 
Whose  glory  beamed  out  from  the  opening  soul ; 
Then  the  fair  features,  with  a  tenderer  flush 
Mantling  above  their  paleness,  glowed  and  shone 
Like  alabaster,  while  the  light  beneath, 
In  bloom-like  emanations,  seemed  to  hang 
Around  her  like  a  soft,  transparent  veil. 
Tenderly  and  lovingly  he  gazed  upon  her ; 
And  while  his  deep  eyes,  looking  into  hers, 
Seemed  to  absorb  their  glory,  thus  he  spoke  : — 

Michael. 
Bound  with  this  child-life  there  is  one  great  purpose- 


WORK   IS   WORSHIP.    .  177 


A  higher  work,  a  higher  destiny — 

A  name,  whose  living  syllables,  embalmed 

With  love,  that,  through  all  human  generations, 

Shall  never  waste,  nor  fade,  are  thine,  my  daughter. 

Wouldst  thou  be  strong,  and  true,  and  unto  this 

Great  mission  bind  thyself?     Go,  thou,  and  work; 

Work  truly  ;  and  in  moments  thou  shalt  gather 

The  essence  and  aroma  of  a  life 

Higher  and  nobler  in  its  bitterest  struggles — 

However  servile — than  may  ever  come 

To  kingly  idlers.     Yes  ;  thou  Royal  Worker ! 

Surpassing  in  thy  queenly  womanhood 

The  feeble,  inert  nurslings  of  the  palace  ; 

Go  ;  knit  thy  sinews ;  brace  thy  human  soiri 

With  tension  for  its  superhuman  duty, 

And  know  that  God  and  angels  are  not  idle  ; 

For  they  shall  be  companions  of  thjr  toil, 

And  stand  by  thee  forever. 

The  meek  head 
Gently  inclined  itself,  with  reverence  sweet ; 
Then  swept  the  dark  hair  forward,  as  a  shadow, 
Over  the  moon-like  lustre  of  the  face, 
That  shone  out  with  a  spiritual  beauty 
It  never  had  before.     The  drooping  eyelids 
Fell  o'er  the  dewy  softness  of  the  eyes  ; 
The  fair  hands  crossed  themselves  unconsciously 
On  the  still  bosom.     Bending  thus  she  stood, 
Moveless  as  marble,  with  the  tender  vail 
Of  her  material  being  so  transparent 
That  the  white  soul  stood  there,  as  if  undraped, 
In  the  high  angel's  presence,  unabashed. 
******** 

She  went  back  wiser ;  then  the  spinning-wheel 
Chanted  sweet  hymns,  and  smoothly  ran  the  yarn 
As  it  flowed  out  chiming  to  the  music. 
Patiently,  hopefully,  she  struggled  on  ; 
And  when  her  task  was  truly  wrought,  and  all 
The  active  duties  of  the  day  were  over, 
Bird-like,  her  spirit  mounted,  singing  prayers 
That  soared  up  strongly,  with  a  lark-like  wing, 
That  entered  in  the  very  gates  of  heaven. 


SKETCHES  OF  MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  NEIGHBORS. 


AUNT    KITTY    HATHNEWS.' 


BY   MRS.    S.   31.    CLARKE. 


In  that  mysterious-looking  cottage  near  the  margin  of  the  Bay, 
surrounded  by  sombre  old  oaks  and  rustling  maples,  lived  Aunt 
Kitty  Hathnews,  the  seeress  of  the  village.  But  "  fortune-tel- 
ler," "  sorceress,"  were  terms  that  the  Neighbors  freely  applied 
to  Aunt  Kitty  in  her  absence,  and  always  in  low  undertones  ;  they 
feared  to  utter  the  opprobrious  epithets  aloud  ;  the  birds  of  the 
air  might  convey  them  to  her  ear,  or  the  wandering  winds  repeat 
them  through  the  leaves  of  her  whispering  trees. 

A  sybil  of  the  past !  How  suggestive  is  the  name,  to  the 
youthful  imagination,  of  a  slight,  stooping  form ;  of  long,  atten- 
uated fingers,  clenched  and  claw-like  ;  of  features  sharply  pointed 
— thin,  compressed  lips,  hooked  nose,  and  small,  penetrating 
black  eyes.  How  suggestive  is  it  of  one  who  wanders  at  dead 
of  night  through  forsaken  graveyards,  muttering  incantations  to 
the  stars  ;  who  when  the  north  wind  shrieks  his  shrill  treble 
through  moss-grown  ruins,  where  decay  has  written  his  fearful 
autograph,  can  ride,  exultingly  upon  the  blast,  as  wild  and  fierce 
as  a  spirit  of  the  storm ;  who  laughs  and  chatters,  fiendlike,  as 
she  pauses  a  moment  in  her  aerial  flight  to  shake  the  creaking- 
hinges  of  some  latticed  window,  and  whisper  in  the  ear  of  a 
sleeping  maiden  that  the  heart  is  faithless  in  which  she  trusted, 
until  she  starts  from  her  slumbers  to  a  new-born  agony  and  to 
listen  to  the  wailing  of  the  melancholy  winds,  that  seems  to  con- 
firm the  maddening  tale,  and  to  mourn  over  her  heart's  desola- 
tion. 

But  you  will  be  grievously  disappointed  in  Aunt  Kitty,  my 
friend,  if  you  imagine  her  to  have  been  one  of  the  above  class 
of  the  wierd  sisters  ;  neither  was  she  of  the  strongly  mark,  Meg 
Merrillies  order,  nor  of  the  wild,  dark,  gipsy  description.     No, 


MY    GRANDMOTHER'S    NEIGHBORS.  179 

no  ;  but,  like  her  own  nose,  that  was  neither  classical,  nor  to  be 
classed  with  any  particular  style  of  noses,  she  was  nondescript, 
sui  generis,  if  it  please  you,  in  person  and  manners. 

Nature  had  been  liberal,  lavish  even  (in  proportions),  to  Aunt 
Kitty.  Her  rotund  form  was  of  ample  dimensions,  and  she  was 
generously  endowed  with  heart  and  brain.  Her  hair  was  of  a 
ripe  carrot  color,  crisp  and  sunburnt,  instead  of  damp  with  night 
dews,  and  there  was  a  play  of  light  in  her  small  grey  eyes, 
partly  sarcastic  and  partly  humorous,  blended  with  a  humane 
expression,  not  at  all  appalling  to  the  observer.  And  she  had 
the  habit  of  looking  inquiringly  into  the  face  of  the  person  she 
addressed,  as  though  she  sought  to  read  his  thoughts  from  its 
expression,  rather  than  from  his  language. 

Aunt  Kitty's  whole  appearance,  indeed,  was  suggestive  of 
comfort — the  fullness  of  comfort — of  quiet  and  refreshing  sleep 
and  generous  dinners.  And  yet,  Aunt  Kitty  was  not  one  given  to 
appetite  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  belonged  to  that  class  of  pecu- 
liarly constituted  individuals  who  draw  large  benefits  from  appa- 
rently small  resources,  and  thrive  marvellously  where  less 
affluent  natures  would  pine  and  wither  away.  Aunt  Kitty  was 
a  true  child  of  nature,  and  followed  the  lead  of  her  thoughts  as 
strictly  as  the  currents  of  the  winds  and  waves  obey  their  laws 
of  direction,  untrammeled  by  the  teachings  of  the  Schools.  She 
was  no  vassal  to  any  system  of  dietaries,  no  meagre  starveling 
of  a  fearful  creed  or  barren  philosophy,  and  "the  great  Mother" 
nourished  her  from  earth,  sea,  and  air,  and  she  rested  upon  her 
heart  in  calm  contentment. 

But,  although  Aunt  Kitty  was  liberal  and  independent  in  her 
habit  of  thought,  yet  she  was  not  irreligious.  Her  Bible  was 
her  daily  companion.  Its  place  was  on  a  small  round  table  that 
stood  by  the  side  of  her  arm  chair,  between  the  fire-place  and 
the  window  that  looks  out  upon  the  bay.  There  she  might 
always  be  found  in  stormy  weather  and  in  the  long  winter  eve- 
nings, with  her  knitting  in  her  hand  and  the  Book  open  before 
her  for  easy  reference.  And  there  she  would  sit  and  think,  and 
paus3  at  short  intervals  in  her  knitting  to  read  and  think,  and 
to  mai-vel  as  she  read  that  the  divines  of  her  dav  should  render 


180  THE     HESPERIAN. 


"  the  way  of  life  and  salvation  "  so  difficult  for  sinners,  when 
her  precious  bible  declared  it  to  be  so  plain  and  simple  "  that  a 
wayfaring  man,  though  a  fool,  need  not  err  therein." 

Neither  kith  nor  kin  had  Aunt  Kitty,  the  neighbors  said,  and 
she  lived  all  alone  in  her  little  cottage  that  the  sunbeams  rarely 
visited,  saving  when  the  trees  were  leafless  and  their  branches 
pendant  with  icicles.  And  Aunt  Kitty,  whose  heart  was  warm 
and  affectionate,  must  have  felt  lonely  sometimes,  very  lonely 
in  her  solitude,  removed,  as  she  was,  also,  from  social  sympathy 
by  reason  of  the  sentiments  with  which  she  inspired  my  grand- 
mother's neighbors  Many  of  those  ancient  worthies  really  be- 
lieved that  she  possessed  a  knowledge  of  the  "black  art,"  and  that 
she  took  private  lessons  in  demonology  from  his  satanic  majesty 
at  the  noon  of  stormy  nights,  when  good  men  slept,  housed  com- 
fortably from  the  peltings  of  the  pitiless  storm. 

Truly,  Satan  was  no  myth  in  those  days,  but  a  veritable  per- 
sonage, a  bona  fide  individual,  distinguished  in  a  peculiar  manner 
from  the  genus  homo  by  a  long  tail  and  cloven  feet  (any  modern 
doubter  will  find  him  so  represented  in  the  illustrated  English 
bibles  of  that  period),  and  it  was  generally  believed  that  he  held 
his  revels  at  the  midnight  hour,  exercising  freely  the  power  of 
locomotion  in  going  to  and  fro  in  the  earth  and  walking  up  and 
down  in  it  as  in  the  days  of  the  man  of  Uz,  and  amusing  him- 
self in  imparting  his  fearful  secrets  to  any  stray  heir  of  darkness 
he  might  chance  to  meet  in  his  nocturnal  wanderings. 

It  was  said  by  the  neighbors  that  Aunt  Kitty  married  a  "  sea- 
faring man  "  in  her  youth,  and  lost  her  companion  early  in  life. 
But  it  appeared  like  a  tradition  of  the  middle  ages  to  the  younger 
portion  of  the  community,  for,  to  them,  she  had  always  been  old 
and  widowed.  And  Aunt  Kitty's  surroundings  had  a  tendency 
to  heighten  this  impression.  There  was  an  air  of  age  about  the 
gnarled  oaks  that  towered  above  her  dwelling — the  shadow  of 
the  centuries  lingered  there  and  fell  upon  the  cottage  and  its 
inmates.  But,  in  the  absence  of  kindred  and  social  ties,  Aunt 
Kitty  turned  to  domestic  animals  for  companionship,  as  many 
others  have  done  under  similar  circumstances,  and  did  not  feel 
wholly  forsaken.     Her  gentle  cow,  "  Goody,"  with  her  counte- 


MY    GRANDMOTHER'S    NEIGHBORS.  181 

nance  of  wondering  sadness,  was  a  treasure  and  a  blessing,  in 
her  quiet  way,  saving  when  her  little  calf  was  taken  from  her 
yearly  and  converted  into  veal,  when  she  would  look  so  pite- 
ously  and  imploringly  at  Aunt  Kitty  as  to  awaken  a  slight  com- 
punction of  conscience  for  the  part  she  had  acted  in  the  tragedy, 
and  it  would  pain  her  to  reflect  that  she  was  impelled  by  the 
necessities  of  life  to  inflict  suffering  upon  her  best  friend.  1  he 
cow  was  rightly  named,  Goody.  She  had  no  naughty  trick  of 
kicking  over  the  milk-pail  after  she  had  generously  permitted 
it  to  be  filled  with  her  warm  life-tide  for  the  nourishment  of 
her  kind  mistress,  and  she  was  never  known,  during  her  short, 
useful  life,  to  take  advantage  of  the  reserved  right  of  cows  and 
hold  up  her  milk,  as  modern  animals  often  do  to  the  great  annoy- 
ance of  milkmaids.  But,  unfortunately  for  cows,  the  time-hon- 
ored right  has  been  taken  from  them  by  some  ruthless,  modern 
inventor,  who  has  so  successfully  applied  the  principle  of  suction 
to  their  teats  that  they  are  obliged  to  surrender  the  precious 
liquid  unconditionally  to  the  aggressive  power.  What  a  disa- 
greeable letting  down  from  their  former  dignified  position  !  If 
one  has  a  drop  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness  in  his  veins  he 
cannot  forbear  pitying  the  poor  cows,  who  must  have  a  feeling- 
sense  of  the  outrage,  and  an  alarmed  consciousness,  at  the  same 
time,  of  their  weakness  and  inability  to  prevent  it.  Verily, 
invention  is  a  subtle  despot ;  he  wrests  from  Nature  her  pro- 
foundest  secrets  and  takes  advantage  of  her  own  laws  to  circum- 
vent her  operations. 

And  Aunt  Kitty  had  other  friends  to  cheer  her  solitude — 
cats  innumerable,  in  which  she  delighted ;  cats  remarkable  for 
beauty  of  form  and  color,  and  for  grace  of  motion,  exhibited  in 
wonderful  feats  of  j  umping  and  leaping  all  over  her  premises. 
To  these  she  gave  names  suggested  by  some  peculiarity  of 
appearance  or  habit.  All  were  alike  familiar  with  her  voice, 
and  would  come  running  or  leaping  toward  her  as  she  called 
their  names — Spring,  Spin,  Shell,  Top  Leap,  on  through  the 
whole  catalogue  of  cats,  from  the  Quaker  maltese  to  the  richly- 
colored  tortoise-shell.  And  Aunt  Kitty  reared  all  their  little 
families  of  kittens  with  the  interest  and  care  of  a  tender  mother 


182  _    THE    HESPERIAN. 


until  her  trees  were  literally  covered  with  the  feline  race,  and 
luminous  eyes  could  be  seen  peeping  through  every  opening 
among  the  leaves. 

And,  in  addition  to  the  cow  and  cats,  there  was  her  friend 
Eandolph,  a  pure  English  mastiff,  the  very  prince  of  dogs,  noble 
and  generous,  with  a  dignified  bearing  and  large  melancholy 
eyes,  so  human  in  their  expression  that  one  might  believe,  for  a 
moment,  as  he  looked  upon  Randolph,  in  the  Pythagorean  theory 
of  the  transmigration  of  souls,  and  fancy  that  some  ancient  feu- 
dal chief  had  been  sent  back  from  the  Stygian  shore  to  do  pen- 
ance for  his  lordly  pride,  and  learn,  of  a  lower  order  of  animals, 
the  habit  of  patient  submission.  Stately  and  grave,  he  moved 
about  her  grounds  as  if  he  held  a  title-deed  to  the  estate  and 
felt  the  responsibility  of  caring  for  and  protecting  the  property. 
And  Randolph  was  on  friendly  terms  with  all  the  other  animals. 
Not  one  of  Aunt  Kitty's  numerous  cats  was  ever  seen  to  run  away 
sputtering  with  rage  from  his  angry  growl,  with  her  back  elevated 
and  her  fur  bristling  with  terror.  But  he  would  often  set  aside 
his  dignity,  in  a  summer  afternoon,  and  walk  leisurely  round  and 
round  the  trees,  trailing  his  tail  on  the  grass  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  the  little  kittens  and  entice  them  to  run  after  him,  and 
when  they  had  frolicked  until  they  were  weary,  they  would  all 
lie  down  cosily  together  upon  the  greensward  for  an  afternoon 
nap,  each  kitten  appropriating  as  its  right  any  unoccupied  por- 
tion of  the  limbs,  neck,  and  shoulders  of  Randolph  for  a  cushion 
for  its  head.  Nothing  pleased  Aunt  Kitty  more  than  the  picture 
thus  presented.  She  delighted  in  seeing  the  lower  orders  of 
animals  living  in  harmony.  It  reminded  her,  she  said,  of  the 
good  time  spoken  of  by  the  prophet,  when  the  leopard  and  the 
lamb  should  lie  down  together,  and  a  little  child  should  lead 
them,  and  the  nations  should  learn  war  no  more. 

And  Aunt  Kitty  had  yet  another  pet  that  was  the  favorite 
companion  of  her  solitude.  It  was  a  garrulous  old  parrot,  that 
always  slept  with  one  eye  open,  and  never  omitted  an  opportu- 
nity of  making  itself  seen  and  heard.  This  quaint  piece  of 
Nature's  workmanship  would  perch  itself  for  hours  upon  Aunt 
Kitty's  shoulder,  or  upon   contiguous  branches   of  oak  in  the 


MY   GRANDMOTHER'S   NEIGHBORS.  1S3 

warm  season,  and  chatter  in  a  marvelous  manner,  such  as  none 
hut  its  mistress  could  understand,  turning,  at  short  intervals, 
toward  her  and  repeating  in  rapid  succession,  "Poor  Aunt 
Kitty!  Poor  Aunt  Kitty!"  And,  when  it  chanced  to  see  any 
person  passing  the  cottage,  it  would  call  out:  "Aunt  Kitty  at 
home  ;  walk  in  !  Aunt  Kitty  at  home  ;  walk  in  !"  This  doting- 
old  parrot  might  have  been  linked  to  the  past  and  to  Aunt  Kit- 
ty's heart  by  a  tender  tie  of  affection,  or  it  might  have  seemed 
to  Aunt  Kitty  the  spirit  of  her  long-lost  mate,  incarnate,  come 
back  from  the  pleasant  fields  of  Paradise  to  be  near  and  care  for 
her  when  none  were  left  to  love. 

•  But,  as  clear  as  Aunt  Kitty's  pets  were  to  her,  the  neighbors 
generally  felt  a  strong  aversion  for  them.  The  superstitious  sen- 
timents with  which  they  regarded  her  were  reflected  upon  her 
animals,  and  even  upon  her  cottage  and  grounds.  Polly  Spoon- 
all  declared,  in  her  peculiarly  emphatic  manner,  and  with  a  sig- 
nificant shake  of  her  head,  "  That  parrot  is  a  perfect  little  imp, 
and  as  for  those  cats,  they  look  like  evil  spirits,  every  one  of 
them ;  the  trees  are  literally  alive  with  the  horrid  creatures  ;  it 
is  startling  to  see  them  looking  down  from  the  branches  upon 
you  with  eyes  of  flame,  as  if  they  were  preparing  to  pounce 
upon  you.  But  I  think  they  are  fitting  companions  for  their 
mistress ;  she  never  goes  to  church,  like  christian  folks,  as  we  all 
know,  and  it  wouldn't  surprise  me  if  she  really  had  dealings 
with  the  devil." 

But  while  Polly  Spoonall  took  genuine  pleasure  in  giving 
expression  to  her  ill-natured  thoughts,  she  "  would  not,  for  the 
world,"  thxt  Aunt  Kitty  should  hear  of  it,  because  she  was  the 
only  person  in  the  village  whom  she  really  feared.  And  beside, 
she  entertained  a  feeling  akin  to  respect  and  admiration  for  Aunt 
Kitty's  peculiar  powers;  and,  notwithstanding  her  acknowl- 
edged religious  scruples,  would  often  resort  to  her  for  the  inter- 
pretation of  dreams  and  omens,  and  to  learn  her  opinion  of  the 
world-future  of  some  of  the  neighbors  whom  she  either  envied  or 
disliked,  hoping  that  Aunt  Kitty's  opinion  would  accord  with 
her  malignant  feelings. 

Poor  Polly!  in  her  insane  desire  that  some  injury  might  be 


184  THE   HESPEEIAN. 


inflicted  upon  those  who  were  obnoxious  to  her,  or  whom  she 
regarded  as  "  evil-minded  persons,"  and  deserving  of  punish- 
ment, she  never  paused  a  moment  to  reflect  that  the  evil  that 
she  hoped  would  befall  them  might  react  upon  herself.  We  are 
all  too  prone  to  forget  that  humanity  is  a  unit  of  interests,  and 
that,  like  the  different  members  of  the  body,  if  one  be  injured 
all  the  rest  must  suffer  with  it.  That  action  and  reaction  are 
equal,  is  alike  a  law  of  ethics  and  of  physics.  The  rebound  of 
the  bow  may  inflict  a  wound  as  fatal  as  the  arrow  that  it  winged 
for  the  mark. 

The  man  who  elbows  his  way  through  a  crowd  to-day, 
regardless  of  the  comfort  or  convenience  of  others,  may  be  pain- 
fully elbowed  himself  to-morrow  ;  aye,  even  trodden  under  foot 
by  the  avenging  spirit  his  selfishness  had  evoked.  The  politi- 
cian who  serves  his  own  interest  in  the  present,  by  a  narrow 
policy,  opposed  to  the  general  good,  will  find  himself,  or  his 
children,  overwhelmed  and  ruined  in  the  future  by  the  sorely 
returning  waves  of  the  remorseless  tide  of  events  that  he  had  set 
in  motion.  That  action,  and  only  that  action,  that  regards  the 
interests  of  the  many  while  pursuing  personal  advantage;  that  is 
based  upon  the  broad  democratic  idea  of  the  greatest  good  of 
greatest  numbers,  will  bring  permanent  prosperity  to  an  indi- 
vidual, or  a  nation.  A  selfish,  narrow  policy  may  appear  to 
prosper  for  a  day,  but  the  months  and  the  years  will  demand  a 
fearful  retribution. 

Aunt  Kitty's  favorite  seat,  during  the  warm  season,  was  in 
the  door  of  her  cottage  that  opened  upon  a  narrow  inclosure  of 
wild  roses.     This  garden  communicated  with  the  principal  thor- 
oughfare of  the  village,  through  a  rickety  wicket  that  creaked 
with  every  breath  of  the  wind.     The  sweetbrier  grew  in  rank 
luxuriance  beneath  the  overshadowing   trees,   and   twined   its 
branches  closely  and  lovingly  above  the   door  of  the   cottage, 
forming  for  her  a  fragrant  arbor  of  leaves.     There  she  would  sit 
and  knit  mechanically  through  the  long  summer  days  and  gratify 
her  social  nature  by  observing  the  neighboes  as  they  passed 
and  repassed,  and  exchanging  salutations  with  them.     And  if  any 
one  chanced  that  way  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  a  long  time, 


MY   GRANDMOTHER'S   NEIGHBORS.  185 

she  would  invariably  call  out  to  him  in  tones  of  the  most  lively 
interest :  "  Have  you  seen  any  lights?  heard  any  noises?  had  any 
dreams  lately? 

And  a  day  rarely  passed  without  affording  Aunt  Kitty  an 
opportunity  of  exercising  her  skill  in  the  interpretation  of  a 
dream,  or  an  omen,  for  it  was  a  superstitious  age,  and  the  most 
trifling  incident  of  each  hour  had  its  peculiar  significance.  If 
Chanticleer  sent  up  his  jubilant  salutation  to  morning  from  a 
fence,  or  any  other  poultry-yard  elevation,  it  was  the  herald  of  a 
fine,  sunny  day  ;  but  if  he  crowed  upon  the  ground,  it  portended 
clouds  and  rain.  If  the  housewife's  scissors  fell  upon  the  floor, 
and  pointed  toward  the  east,  or  toward  the  west,  a  strange  vis- 
itor was  expected  from  the  direction  indicated.  And  if  a  candle- 
wick  formed,  in  burning,  an  excrescence  that  drooped  in  a  curve 
about  it,  it  was  an  indication  that  some  neighbor  would  shortly 
be  wrapped  in  his  winding-sheet. 

Yes,  yes,  my  friend,  Aunt  Kitty  lived  in  a  superstitious  age, 
and  the  neighbors,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  were  keenly  alive  to 
the.  marvelous  and  supernatural.  All  classes  eagerly  resorted  to 
Aunt  Kitty  for  an  explanation  of  their  dreams  and  all  unac- 
countable sights  and  sounds,  with  full  faith  in  her  ability  to 
enlighten  them.  And  when  they  met  at  their  social  afternoon 
tea-parties,  after  discussing  Parson  Kindley's  last  doctrinal  ser- 
mon— total  depravity  and  the  great  plan  of  salvation — Aunt  Kit- 
ty's sayings  and  doings  formed  an  important  part  of  the  enter- 
taining gossip. 

[To  be  continued.] 


A  modern  writer  says  the  government  is  safer  in  the  hands  of 
the  poor  than  under  the  administration  of  the  rich,  but  is  admin- 
istered with  more  economy  by  the  middling  classes  than  by 
either  extreme. 


Benevolence  is  the  light  and  joy  of  a  good  mind  :  ■ "  It  is  better 
to  give  than  to  receive." 


ANGEL    VISITS 


BY     JACOB     SECOE 


"  They  come  like  shadows ;  so  depart." 

The  old  man  stood  in  the  gathering  gloom, 

And  gazed  around  his  empty  room, 

Where  all  was  lone,  and  dark,  and  drear, 

Bereft  of  all  that  blessed  him  here. 

But,  list !   he  hears  an  angel  voice 

That  bids  his  sinking  heart  rejoice  ; 

A  voice,  so  sweetly  soft,  it  seems 

Like  spirit  tones  that  come  in  dreams. 

And  now  no  more  the  twilight  gloom 

Enwraps  the  long-deserted  room  : 

He  sees  a  throng — the  loved,  the  fair — 

Of  bright-eyed  children  gathered  there: 

He  hears  their  laughter  in  the  hall ; 

He  hears  their  little  footsteps  fall, 

And  one,  whose  smile  illumines  all, 

Comes  at  his  spirit's  call. 

Lo !    'round  his  hearth,  a  shadowy  train, 

They  come  to  visit  him  again. 

*  *         *         -:<-         *         *         * 

"Ah !    'tis  with  tearful  eyes  1  gaze, 
And  mingle  in  the  dreamy  maze 
This  fearful  gift  hath  made. 
Alas!   how  soon  'twill  fade; 
Each  form  and  face  and  gentle  tone, 
And  I  a«rain  be  left  alone." 


True. — People  who  suppose  that  a  good  prayer  is  preferred  to 
a  good  act  doubtless  imagine  that  God  has  more  hearing  than 
eye-sight.  The  end,  we  fear,  will  show  that  they  reasoned  from 
false  premises.  The  poor  are  oftener  prayed  for  than  helped. 
The  reason  is,  we  believe,  that  breath  is  cheaper  than  bullion. 


UtttttUi'g    #f    &Mii*U* 


From  the  "  Quarterly  Report  cf  Fashion,"  we  give  the  following  items  : — 

FULL  DRESS. 
Skirts  long  and  full,  trimmed  with  narrow  flounces,  or  narrow  plaitings 
and  quillings  of  ribbon.  Velvet  is  also  much  used  for  trimming  dresses. 
Bodies — are  made  either  quite  high  and  plain,  or  opening  en  demi  cceur,  with 
small  re  vers.  For  young  ladies,  the  square  body  is  becoming.  Sleeves,  are 
worn  large,  the  Pagoda  form  being  a  favorite. 

MANTLES  AND  PALETOTS. 
These  are  no  longer  worn  long,  but  ot  medium  length.     Summer  Man- 
telets will  be  worn  low  on  the  shoulders,  partaking  of  the  shawl  form.     Mus- 
lin dresses  and  mantles  of  the  same  material  will  be  worn.     Plain  material 
will  be  the  most  distingvee. 

BONNETS. 

The  present  fashion  is  anything  but  tasteful.  They  are  high  in  front, 
projecting  over  the  forehead  to  a  point.  Curtains,  deep  of  lace,  with  a  point  of 
silk  falling  over ;  the  face-trimming  is  according  to  the  taste  of  the  wearer, 
but  the  prevailing  fashion  is  a  heavy  wreath  or  bunch  of  flowers  at  the  top, 
with  full  cap,  at  the  cheeks. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  FULL-SIZED  PATTERN. 

The  full-sized  Pattern  we  give  this  month  is  that  of  a  Lady's  Jacket,  called 
the  Amazonian — fitting  half  tight  at  the  back.  The  pattern  consists  of  four 
pieces — the  front,  back,  side-piece,  and  sleeve  ;  this  last  is  given  as  far  as 
the  shape  of  elbow ;  the  lengthening  below  this  can  be  made  according  to 
taste — about  sis  inches  added  equally  at  the  bottom  would  be  sufficient.  This 
sleeve  may  be  left  open  to  the  elbow,  or  closed,  with  cuff  turned  back ;  a 
wide,  open  sleeve  may  be  cut  from  this  pattern  by  keeping  the  form  of  the 
top  part,  and  gradually  increasing  the  width.  The  fronts  of  the  Jacket  are 
not  intended  to  close,  but  are  left  open  to  show  either  the  waistcoat  or  full 
chemisette  worn  underneath  ;  but  by  adding  a  little  to  the  top  part  of  edge  of 
front  it  may  be  made  to  close. 


ftii4%'$  MtthU. 


THE  GIVER  OF  BREAD. 

The  term  lady,  which  is,  somewhat  obscurely,  said  to  be  derived  from  an 
old  Saxon  word  (Laf-ga),  is  a  simple  and  beautiful  expression  of  the  natural 
office  of  Woman,  as  Mother  of  the  Household,  for  it  is  best  interpreted  by  the 
words  that  compose  our  title — the  Giver  of  Bread.  This  is  a  representative 
Idea,  clearly  shadowing  forth  the  office  of  Woman  in  all  the  domestic  and 
social  economy,  resting  not  only  with  the  food  that  perisheth,  but  stretching 
out  her  hand  until  it  becomes  luminous,  with  the  Bread  of  Heaven.  The 
ministry  of  Woman  is  at  once  the  highest  and  profoundest  under  Heaven.  It 
reaches  back  into  the  very  elements  of  form  ;  it  orders  the  unfolding  both  of 
life  and  character,  and  thus  determines  the  power  and  comeliness  both  of  body 
and  mind.  It  moulds,  it  animates,  it  inspires.  It  begins  the  earliest,  it 
reaches  the  farthest,  and  it  lasts  the  longest  of  all  human  influences.  That 
Woman  has  a  nature  corresponding  with  this  high  calling,  Ave  are  led  to 
believe,  not  only  by  all  fairly  shown  facts  in  the  case,  but  by  universal  anal- 
ogy, which  always  adapts  the  power  to  the  function.  Even  among  savage 
tribes,  where  she  is  crushed  down  by  brute  force,  her  heart  is  always  true  to 
the  divine  instincts  of  humanity  and  justice.  Nor  can  all  the  deformities  and 
fripperies  of  fashionable  life  quite  despoil  her  of  her  high  prerogative.  She 
must  then  be  taught  to  disabuse  herself  of  the  false,  the  degrading,  the  pro- 
fane influences,  by  which  she  is  more  or  less  surrounded.  We  must  set  before 
her  the  true  Mirror  of  Life  ;  not  that  she  may  behold  her  own  outward  beauty 
— not  that  she  may  adjust  her  jewels  or  her  flounces,  but  that  she  may  see 
the  signet- ring  of  motherhood  that  clasps  her  right  hand,  and  the  outflowing 
light  that  bends  above  her  foiehead  and  crowns  her  queenly  estate  with  its 
divine  halo.  Never  was  the  power  of  a  true  womanhood  so  earnestly  called 
for  as  at  the  present  time.  The  whole  spirit  of  the  age  invokes,  demands  it. 
In  the  hands  of  woman  is  the  key  that  is  to  unfold  new  eras  of  progress  and 
beauty,  and  harmony.  Let  her  not,  then,  idly  throw  it  away,  and  thus  defer 
the  happiness  which  she  can,  at  pleasure,  invoke  or  set  aside.  To  be  truth- 
fully and  consciously  capable  of  meeting  this  crisis,  she  must  be  completely  ren- 
ovated, both  in  body  and  mind.  She  must  be  instructed  in  the  laws  of  life  and 
health.  She  must  be  informed  of  her  dignities.  She  must  be  invested  with 
her  prerogatives.  Our  position  is  thus  fairly  defined.  We  are  not  to  do  bat- 
tle for  auy  merely  outside  rights,  but  to  call  forth  inherent  power — seeking,  not 
only  to  unfold  those  fine  interior  graces  which  most  truly  adorn  life,  but  that 
latent  strength  which  can  properly  take  hold  of  and  maintain  all  that  belongs 
to  it.  To  do  this,  and  whatever  else  we  may  find  within,  or  beyond,  of  good 
to  the  Human  Family — especially  its  unfortunate  members — will  come  within 


editor's  table.  189 


our  legitimate  field  of  action.  The  field  is  a  broad  and  rich  one,  though  as 
yet  scarcely  entered.  But  the  New  Day  is  opening  cheerily,  and  with  the 
gray  light  of  its  early  dawning,  we  hasten  to  our  work,  happy  in  the  hope  that 
we,  too,  may  achieve  something  for  the  cause  of  humanity. 

The  readers  of  the  Hesperian  will,  ere  this  comes  to  hand,  have  read  in  the 
May  number,  the  "farewell"  to  them,  of  its  highly  gifted  and  talented  Editor, 
Mrs.  F.  H.  Day.  She  leaves  many  friends,  who  will  keenly  feel  the  depriv- 
ation her  departure  occasions. 

Adieu  is  a  sad  word  to  speak  ;  it  leaves  a  shade  of  sombre  hue,  that  will 
not  brighten  at  the  spirit's  bidding,  and  awakens  memories  of  hours,  and  days, 
of  pleasant  sympathies  and  converse  that  may  come  to  us  no  more. 

Mrs.  Day  has  left  for  a  tour  in  the  Old  World — will  sojourn  for  a  time  in 
London  and  Paris,  and  from  thence  send  us  contributions  and  embellish- 
ments that  will  render  the  Magazine  superior  to  any  on  the  Pacific  coast,  and 
as  valuable  as  any  other  in  the  United  States. 


In  examining  the  manuscripts  for  the  May  number  we  overlooked  the  follow- 
ing interesting  letter  from  our  much  esteemed  friend,  Miss  Breck,  who  was  at 
that  time,  and  is  now,  canvassing  in  behalf  of  the  Hesperian.  We  feel, 
with  her,  grateful  for  the  kindness  and  hospitality  extended,  and  are  happy  to 
embrace  this  opportunity  to  express  our  acknowledgments.  E.  T.  S. 

Marysville,  May  6th,  1862. 
Dear  Mrs.  Day  : — My  trip  from  the  city  here  proved  pleasant.  I  met, 
on  the  Sacramento  steamer,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Benton,  from  Folsom,  who  enter- 
tained me  by  pleasing  and  instructive  conversation.  We  do  not  meet  with 
such  a  genial  soul  every  day,  and  T,  for  one,  always  feel  stronger  to  battle 
with  the  conflicts  of  life  after  such  a  spirit  has  crossed  my  path.  Mr.  Benton 
gave  me  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Brodt,  of  Marysville.  It 
was  one  of  his  characteristic  productions.  He  said:  "If  God  helps  those 
who  help  themselves,  good  men  should  do  it  too,  so  give  her  your  hand  and 
boost  her  along."  This  letter  benefitted  me  very  materially.  Mr.  Brodt 
extended  to  me  his  kindly  aid  and  sympathy.  He,  too,  is  a  man  with  a  soul. 
You  know  I  am  inclined  to  doubt  the  immortality  of  some  who  call  themselves 
men.  I  am  happy  to  state  that  he  has  a  fine,  flourishing  church,  not  only  in 
point  of  membership,  but  the  house  itself  is  the  best  finished  I  have  seen  in 
the  State.  I  find  Marysville  to  be  a  thrifty  place  of  some  8,000  inhabitants. 
The  climate  at  this  season  is  delightful,  and  the  flowers  are  unsurpassed  in 
anv  region  of  the  world.  As  an  evidence  of  the  good  taste  of  the  people,  I 
will  state  that  they  have  a  public  garden  of  one  year's  growth  which  will  sup- 
ply one  hundred  boquets  per  day.  Mr.  Linthiann,  editor  of  the  "Express," 
and  Mr.  Brooks,  of  the  "Appeal,"  extended  me  every  courtesy  in  their  power. 
I  hope  their  efforts  for  the  public  good  may  be  as  well  crowned  with  success 
as  they  deserve  to  be.  I  have  visited  Mr-  Booth's  Foundry  of  this  place. 
Mr.  Booth  endeavored  to  initiate  me  into  the  mysteries  of  the  mechanical 


190  THE   HESPERIAN. 


world.  At  this  institution  are  manufactured  engines  for  quartz  mills,  agri- 
cultural implements  of  all  kinds — in  short,  all  of  those  labor-saving  machines 
by  which  our  nation  of  little  more  than  thirty  millions  of  freemen  are  enabled 
to  perform  the  work  of  hundreds  of  millions.  I  could  but  think,  as  I  looked 
upon  those  toilers,  who  by  their  genius  are  doing  so  much  for  the  world,  that 
if  there  is  one  class  more  than  another  who  resemble  their  Creator,  it  is  the 
mechanic.  He  takes  from  the  mountains  the  ores  that  are  worthless  to  the 
world  in  their  natural  state,  and  with  them  not  only  strengthens  the  nerves  of 
the  nation,  but  with  them  forms  a  chain  which  binds  all  the  nations  of  the 
earth  into  one  great  brotherhood.  But  pardon  me ;  I  am  wandering  from 
what  I  intended  to  say.  Mr.  Booth  added  his  name  to  our  list  of  subscribers 
to  the  Hesperian.  I  was  invited  to  lunch  at  his  house,  and  when  I  entered 
into  the  atmosphere  of  his  home  and  saw  the  bright,  cheerful  faces  of  his 
wife  and  noble  sister,  I  knew  at  once  the  secret  of  his  happiness,  and  the  rea- 
son he  was  able  to  strew  flowers  over  the  pathway  of  others.  Men  who 
merge  from  such  homes  as  these  cannot  be  bad.  They  heed  not  the  luring 
charms  of  vice ;  they  can  pass  these  by,  strong  in  their  own  greatness.  This 
reflection  reminds  me  of  the  words  of  a  genuine  writer:  "A  homeless  man, 
or  a  man  hopeless  of  home,  is  a  ruined  man/'  The  men  who  are  fighting 
the  battles  of  our  country  to-day  are  nerved  by  the  consciousness  that  they 
are  struggling  to  protect  their  firesides— the  wives,  mothers,  and  the  girls 
they  have  left  behind  them.  'Tis  this  that  stimulates  them  to  superhuman 
effort,  and  I  believe  if  they  had  not  this  incentive,  many  would  lay  down  their 
arms  in  trepidation  and  fear. 

What  the  world  needs  most  (whatever  politicians  may  say)  is  the  refining 
influence  of  happy  homes,  where  the  Godlike  faculties  of  the  soul  may  be 
expanded.  Woman  can  there  wield  a  power  mightier  than  pen  or  sword  ; 
she  can  there  shed  a  radiance  of  light  which  shall  tell  on  future  generations. 
But  enough  ;  I  am  on  my  winding  way. 

Gkass  Valley,  May  10th. 

Well,  here  I  am,  amid  the  wild  and  romantic  scenery  of  Grass  Valley,  in 
the  home  of  Mr.  Delano  (or  old  Block),  catching  rays  of  sunshine  from  his 
genial  face,  and  greatly  enjoying  the  quiet,  happy,  influence  of  his  good  wife. 

We  all  visited  a  quartz-mill  to-day.     Mr.  W ,  one  of  the  proprietors  of  the 

Empire  Mill,  kindly  showed  us  the  process  of  separating  the  gold  from  the 
mass  of  rock  before  us.  It  seems  truly  wonderful  how,  through  this  crushing 
and  separating  process,  thej"  can  bring  forth  to  the  world  such  fine  precious 
metal.  The  toiling  millions  are  all  working  for  one  thing — this  yellow  dust, 
"The  love  of  which,  the  wise  man  tells  us,  is  the  root  of  all  evil,"  but  after 
all,  is  necessary  to  cany  on  those  great  commercial  transactions  which  move 
empiren  and  indirectly  govern  the  world,  and  the  humble  toiler,  who  digs 
beneath  the  soil  and  causes  mother  Earth  to  yield  up  her  treasure  is  perform- 
ing a  great  share  toward  progression. 

God  bless  the  working  men, 
Who  rear  the  cities  of  the  plain — 


SPAN-LONG  BEACTED  BIND- WEED. 


CORN -BINDWEED 


X 


ESPERIA 


Vol.  VIII.]       JULY  and  AUGUST,  1862.        [No.  5. 


CLIMATE    ON    PHTHISIS    PULMONALIS. 


BY   W.    WELLINGTON    CARPENTER,    M.   D. 


The  more  enlightened  element  of  the  medical  profession  have 
long  since  discarded  the  idea  of  treating  pulmonary,  or  lung  con- 
sumption, exclusively  with  drugs.  In  fact,  I  have  no  faith  at  all 
that  drugs  are  of  any  benefit  to  the  pulmonary  patient ;  while  I 
do  most  confidently  believe  that  properly  regulated  air,  exercise, 
and  dietitic  rules  will  restore  to  health  a  majority  of  even  those 
cases  which  are  considerably  advanced,  in  an  otherwise  fair  con- 
stitution. The  latter,  a  judicious,  suitable  regulation  of  a  whole- 
some diet,  can  be  conducted  in  any  clime ;  but  to  reap  the  two 
former — air  and  exercise — it  is  requisite  for  the  patient  to  be  so 
circumstanced,  that  he  can  possess  himself  of  that  climate  which 
is  best  adapted  to  each  and  every  successive  stage  of  his  disease ; 
which  at  once  implies  and  involves  several  important  latitudinal 
changes,  in  the  treatment  of  an  advanced  case.  But  alas !  that 
the  most  lamentable  view  of  this  matter  should  be  that  many, 
too  many,  consumptives  have  not  the  pecuniary  means  necessary 
to  purchase  their  restoration  to  health.  But  the  important  ques- 
tion is,  what  sections  of  this  earth  are  best  adapted  to  the  cure  of 
pulmonary  consumption  ?  This  is  an  important  question,  and  we 
will  endeavor  to  respond  to  it  calmly,  and  impartially,  and  as  mi- 
nutely as  our  brief  limits  will  admit.  My  limits  are  altogether 
too  short  to  discuss  all  the  climatic  qualities  suitable  to  every  stage 
of  pulmonary  disease.  The  subject  under  consideration  is  one  which 
the  medical  faculty  in  times  past  have  been  very  much  in  error 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by   Mrs.   F.   H.  Day,   in   the   Clerk's 
Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Northern  District  of  California. 


196  THE    HESPEEIAN. 


upon.  The  old  idea  that  "A  life  on  the  ocean  wave,"  was  the 
life  for  the  consumptive,  has  proven  fatal  to  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands of  ill-advised  victims.  A  very  few  cases  are  benefitted  by 
a  trip  to  sea ;  and  even  those  cases  will  reap  all  the  advantages 
.from  a  trip  of  six  days,  that  can  be  obtained  from  that  source  ; 
whereas  on  the  other  hand,  should  the  trip  prove  injurious,  a 
longer  voyage  than  six  days,  would,  perhaps,  seal  the  victim's 
doom.  In  fact,  my  conscience  would  never  suffer  me  to  send  a 
pulmonary  patient  of  mine  on  any  oceanic  voyage  where  he  could 
not  be  landed  on  the  second,  or  third  day,  should  he-desire  to  be  ; 
for  salt  water  voyages  are  positive  in  their  effects  upon  consump- 
tives. When  they  prove  advantageous,  improvement  is  very 
rapid  ;  and  when  they  prove  injurious,  decline  is  correspondingly 
speedy. 

The  undulating  motion  of  the  boat,  as -it  smoothly  glides  over 
the  waves,  is  an  excellent  exercise  for  the  cousumptive  patient, 
where  it  produces  but  little  or  no  sea-sickness.  I  believe  sea- 
sickness to  be  very  injurious  ;  and  yet  but  a  few  years  have 
elapsed  since  it  was  made  the  basis  for  a  recommendation  for  a 
sea  voyage.  Very  high  medical  authority  in  times  past,  were 
firm  advocates  of  treating  pulmonary  consumption  with  emetics. 
That  class  of  physicians  essayed  to  prove  that  a  mild  emetic  ad- 
ministered every  morning  was  exceedingly  beneficial  by  removing 
irritating  substances;  and  they  plead  that  sea-sickness  accom- 
plished that  little  item  in  the  treatment,  without  the  aid  of 
ipecac.     False  position — all  wrong. 

The  idea  that  "a  life  on  the  ocean  wave,"  or  a  life  on  the 
ocean  beach,  or  a  life  even  anywhere  within  old  Ocean's  climatic 
range,-  for  the  consumptive  invalid,  is  all  wrong,  fatally  wrong. 
An  interior  climate,  beyond  the  influence'  of  the  ocean,  is  far  less 
prolific  of  pulmonary  disease,  than  in  any  sea-board  vicinage. 
As  regards  the  comparative  merits  of  the  two  ocean  shores  on  this 
continent,  the  Pacific  is  as  far  superior  to  the  Atlantic,  as  the 
brightest  day  is  lighter  than  the  darkest  night ;  but  Minnesota  is 
far  preferable  to  either.  In  the  immediate  vicinage  of  this  coast, 
the  winters  are  too  wet,  and  the  summers  are  subject  to  too  sud- 
den, and  violent  transitions.     Were  it  not  for  the  excessive  tran- 


CLIMATE  ON  PHTHISIS  PULMONALIS.  197 

sitions  of  atmospheric  temperature,  this  coast  might  be  equal  to 
Minnesota,  during  the  summer  season  ;  but  as  it  is,  it  is  far  in- 
ferior. Were  the  changes  no  worse  than  one  day  hot,  and  the 
next  cold,  it  would  do  very  well;  but  it  is  far,  far  worse,  for 
example,  to  wit :  At  9  o'clock  a.  m.,  it  will  be  oppressively  hot, 
and  at  2  o'clock  p.  m.,  the  wind  will  be  blowing  a  hurricane;  and 
perhaps  at  six  we.  will  be  enveloped  in  a  cold,  damp,  briny  fog. 
The  best  human  system  in  existence  cannot  accommodate  itself 
to  so  many,  and  violent  changes  in  so  brief  a  space  of  time.  The 
heat  in  the  morning  gets  the  perspiration  to  flowing  beautifully, 
when  the  cold  two  hours  afterwards  arrests  it  instantaneously, 
and  the  weak  lungs  are  loaded  down  with  an  unbearable  weight 
of  foreign  matter  which  the  perspiratory  organs  should  have 
thrown  off.  In  the  great  Sacramento  Valley,  the  concentrated 
density  of  effluvium  constantly  emanating  from  the  vast  sea  of 
decomposing  vegetable  matter,  exercises  such  an  enervating,  de- 
pressing influence  upon  consumptives  as  to  render  that  the  most 
unfavorable  climate  for  that  class  of  patients  on  this  side  of  the 
continent.  Then  we  have  still  another  distinct  climate  in  this 
State  which  I  consider  well  worthy  of  notice — the  summit  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada — and  having  resided  there  six  years,  I  ought  to  be 
able  to  speak  of  its  advantages,  and  disadvantages,  understand- 
ingly.  The  summit  of  the  Sierra  Nevada — say  that  portion  which 
lies  from  ten  thousand,  to  thirteen  thousand  feet  in  altitude — en- 
joys one  advantage  to  a  greater  extent  than  any  other  location  on 
this  continent,  to  wit :  it  is  the  dryest.  It  cannot  properly  be 
said  to  have  a  wet  season  at  all.  During  the  Spring,  Summer, 
and  Fall,  of  course  there  is  no  storm  there  more  than  there  is 
elsewhere  in  California  ;  and  during  the  winter  season  it  snows 
nearly  all  the  time,  but  it  is  of  such  a  light,  dry  character,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  great  altitude,  that  itkeeps  the  atmosphere  in  just 
about  a  wholesome  state — never  wet.  But  after  all,  it  has  its 
objections  for  consumptives — the  air  is  altogether  too  rare  to 
properly  inflate  weak  lungs,  in  consequence  of  the  great  elevation 
of  the  country.  It  is  subject  to  the  least  changes  of  any  climate 
that  I  ever  saw. 

The  Rev.  Horace  Bushnell,  of  Hartford,  Conn.,  thus  speaks 


198  THE     HESPERIAN. 


of  Minnesota  :  "I  went  to  Minnesota  early  in  July,  and  remained 
there  until  the  latter  part  of  the  May  following.  I  had  spent  a 
winter  in  Cuba  without  benefit.  I  had  spent,  also,  nearly  a  year 
in  California,  making  a  gain  in  the  dry  season,  and  a  partial  loss 
in  the  wet  season  ;  returning,  however,  sufficiently  improved  to 
resume  my  labors.  Breaking  down  again  from  this  only  partial 
recovery,  I  made  the  experiment  now  of  Minnesota ;  and  submit- 
ting myself,  on  returning,  to  a  very  rigid  examination  by  a  phy- 
sician who  did  not  know  at  all  what  verdict  had  been  passed  by 
other  physicians  before,  he  said  in  accordance  with  their  opinion, 
'  You  have  had  a  difficulty  in  the  right  lung,  but  it  is  healed.' 
I  had  suspected  from  my  symptoms,  that  it  might  be  so,  and  the 
fact  appears  to  be  confirmed  by  the  further  fact  that  I  have  been 
slowly,  though  irregularly  gaining  all  the  summer."  But  no 
consumptive  should  trust  exclusively  to  any  climate  for  his  re- 
covery. Proper  exercise  will  assist  much.  The  very  best  form 
of  exercise  that  I  am  acquainted  with,  is  swinging  the  arms  back- 
ward. A  little  exercise  will  enable  anyone  to  meet  the  backs  of 
their  hands  together  behind  them  in  the  same  way  that  they  place 
the  insides  together. in  front  of  them.  It  is  a  form  of  exercise 
which  developes  the  lungs  wonderfully.  But  I  am  not  writing  a 
regular  treatment  of  pulmonary  phthisis,  and  having  given  my 
opinion  of  which  is  the  most  suitable  climate  for  that  class  of 
patients  on  this  continent,  I  will  close. 
Petaluma,  July  4th,  1862. 


Life  is  what  we  make  it.  Let  us  call  back  images  of  joy 
and  gladness,  rather  than  those  of  grief  and  care.  The  latter  may 
sometimes  be  our  guests  to  sup  and  dine,  but  let  them  never  be 
permitted  to  lodge  with  us. 


That  was  a  fearful  prayer  of  the  infidel  sailor  in  danger  of 
shipwreck  :  "  0  God,  if  there  be  a  God,  save  my  soul,  if  I  have  a 
soul !  But  there  is  a  sublimity  and  beauty  in  that  of  the  soldier, 
on  the  eve  of  battle  :  "  0  God,  if  in  the  day  of  battle  I  forget  thee, 


do  not  thou  forget  me  !" 


NO    SECT    IN    HEAVEN 


FROM  AN  ENGLISH  POEM. 


Talking  of  sects  till  late  one  eve, 
Of  the  various  doctrines  the  saints  believe, 
That  night  I  stood  in  a  troubled  dream, 
By  the  side  of  a  darkly  flowing  stream, 

And  a  "  Churchman"  down  to  the  river  came  : 
And  I  heard  a  strange  voice  call  his  name, 
"  Good  father,  stop  ;  when  you  cross  this  tide, 
You  must  leave  your  robes  on  the  other  side." 

But  the  aged  father  did  not  mind, 
And  his  long  gown  floated  out  behind, 
As  down  to  the  stream  his  way  he  took, 
His  pale  hands  clasping  a  gilt-edged  book. 

"  I'm  bound  for  Heaven,  and  when  I'm  there, 
I  shall  want  my  book  of  Common  Prayer  ; 
And  though  I  put  on  a  starry  crown, 
I  should  feel  quite  lost  without  my  gown." 

Then  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  shining  track, 
But  his  gown  was  heavy,  and  held  him  back, 
And  the  poor  old  father  tried  in  vain, 
A  single  step  in  the  flood  to  gain. 

a 

I  saw  him  again  on  the  other  side, 
But  his  silk  gown  floated  on  the  tide ; 
And  no  one  asked  in  that  blissful  spot, 
Whether  he  belonged  to  "  the  Church"  or  not. 

Then  down  to  the  river  a  Quaker  strayed, 
His  dress  of  sober  hue  was  made  : 
"My  coat  and  hat  must  be  all  of  gray, 
I  cannot  go  any  other  way." 

Then  he  buttoned  his  coat  straight  up  to  his  chin, 
And  staidly,  solemnly,  waded  in, 
And  his  broad-brimmed  hat  he  pulled  down  tight 
Over  his  forehead  so  cold  and  white. 

But  a  strong  wind  carried  away  his  hat ; 
A  moment  he  silently  sighed  over  that, 
And  then,  as  he  gazed  on  the  farther  shore, 
The  coat  slipped  off,  and  was  seen  no  more. 


200  THE   HESPERIAN. 


As  he  entered  Heaven,  his  suit  of  gray 
Went  quietly  sailing — away — away, 
And  nene  of  the  angels  questioned  him 
About  the  width  of  his  beaver's  brim. 

Next  came  Dr.  Watts  with  a  bundle  of  Psalms 
Tied  nicely  up  in  his  aged  arms, 
And  hymns  as  many,  a  very  wise  thing, 
That  the  people  in  heaven, "  all  round,"  might  sing. 
•But  I  thought  that  he  heaved  an  anxious  sigh, 
As  he  saw  that  the  river  ran  broad  and  high, 
And  looked  rather  surprised  as  one  by  one, 
The  Psalms  and  Hymns  in  the  wave  went  down. 

And  after  him,  with  his  MSS., 

Came  Wesley,  the  pattern  of  godliness,  • 

But  he  ciied,  "Dear  me,  what  shall  I  do? 

The  water  has  soaked  them  through  and  through." 

And  there  on  the  river,  far  and  wide, 
Away  they  went  down  the  swollen  tide, 
And  the  saint  astonished,  passed  through  alone, 
Without  his  manuscripts,  up  to  the  throne. 

Then  gravely  walking,  two  saints  by  name, 
Down  to  the  stream  together  came, 
But  as  they  stopped  at  the  river's  brink, 
I  saw  one  saint  from  the  other  shrink. 

"  Sprinkled  or  plunged,  may  I  ask  you,  friend, 
How  you  attained  to  life's  great  end?" 
"  Thus,  with  a  few  drops  on  my  brow." 
"But  /have  been  dipped,  as  you'll  see  me  now. 

And  I  really  think  it  will  hardly  do, 
As  I'm  '  close  communion,'  to  cross  with  you  ; 
You're  bound,  I  know,  to  the  realms  of  bliss, 
But  you  must  go  that  way,  and  I'll  go  this." 

Then  straightway  plunging  with  all  his  might, 
Away  to  the  left — his  friend  'at  the  right, 
Apart  they  went  from  this  world  of  sin, 
But  at  last  together  they  entered  in. 

And  now,  when  the  river  was  rolling  on, 

A  Presbyterian  church  went  down  ; 

Of  women  there  seemed  an  innumerable  throng, 

But  the  men  I  could  count  as  they  passed  along. 

And  concerning  the  road,  they  could  never  agree, 
The  old  or  the  new  way,  which  it  could  be, 


NO    SECT   IN   HEAVEN.  201 

Nor  ever  a  moment  paused  to  think' 
That  both  would  lead  to  the  river's  brink. 

And  a  sound  of  murmuring  long  and  loud 

Came  ever  up  from  the  moving  crowd, 

"  You're  in  the  old  way,  and  I'm  in  the  new. 

That  is  the  false  and  this  is  the  true," — 

Or,  "  I'm  in  the  old  way,  and  you're  in  the  new, 

That  is  the  false,  and  this  is  -the  true." 

But  the  brethren  only  seemed  to  speak, 
Modest  the  sisters  walked,  and  meek, 
And  if  ever  one  of  them  chanced  to  say 
What  troubles  she  met  with  on  the  way, 
How  she  longed  to  pass  to  the  other  side, 
Nor  feared  to  cross  over  the  swelling  tide, 
A  voice  arose  from  the  brethren  then  : 
"  Let  no  one  speak  but  the  'holy  men  ;' 
For  have  ye  not  heard  the  words  of  Paul, 
"  Oh,  let  the  women  keep  silence  all?" 

I  watched  them  long  in  my  curious  dream, 

Till  they  stood  by  the  borders  of  the  stream, 

Then,  just  as  I  thought,  the  two  ways  met, 

But  all  the  brethren  were  talking  yet, 

And  would  talk  on,  till  the  heaving  tide 

Carried  them  over,  side  by  side  ; 

Side  by  side,  for  the  way  was  one, 

The  toilsome  journey  of  life  was  done, 

And  all  who  in  Christ  the  Saviour  died, 

Came  out  alike  on  the  other  side. 

No  forms,  or  crosses,  or  books  had  they, 

No  gowns  of  silk,  or  suits  of  gray, 

No  creeds  to  guide  them,  or  MMS., 

For  all  had  put  on  Christ's  righteousness." 


A  good  book  and  a  good  woman  are  excellent  things  for 
those  who  know  how  justly  to  appreciate  their  value.  There 
are  men,  however,  who  judge  of  both  from  the  beauty  of  their 
covering. 

True  Politeness  of  manners,  is  nothing  but  the  outward 
manifestation  of  Christian  humility  and  charity  in  a  cultivated 
mind. 


THE      ORIGIN     OF     WAR. 


AN  INDIAN  LEGEND. 


In  very  early  times,  quite  beyond  the  reach,  of  tradition,  there 
dwelt  upon  the  Rocky  Mountains  a  large  company  of  Red  Men. 
At  length  certain  persons  among  them  felt  a  great  desire  for  travel, 
and  to  remove  from  their  brethren  where  there  would  be  more 
room.  But  before  separating,  they  put  marks  on  themselves, 
each  person  according  to  his  family,  that  when  they  should  re- 
turn, they  might  be  distinguished  from  those  who  had  been  left 
behind  ;  this  was  the  origin  of  marks  and  scars.  They  then  held 
a  great  feast,  and  at  the  end,  the  Prophet  of  the  people  spoke, 
and  told  them  that  if  they  wished  to  preserve  their  purity,  they 
must  refrain  from  eating  shell-fish,  and  keep  their  food  free  from 
the  mingling  of  blood.  So  they  departed,  and  wandered  away 
until  they  came  to  the  big  waters  in  the  east,  and  there  they  sat 
themselves  down.  The  country  was  rich  and  beautiful,  and  they 
increased  mightily. 

But  when  they  saw  the  shell-fish,  the  oysters,  and  the  muscles, 
they  forgot  the  words  of  the  ancient  prophet,  and  they  ate ; 
and  so,  while  they  were  nourished  in  the  body,  they  lost  their  in- 
tegrity of  soul.  They  also  mingled  blood  with  their  food;  and 
they  were  corrupted  from  the  purity  of  their  fathers,  and  became 
gross  and  sensual.  After  living  on  this  way  more  than  eleven 
hundred  years,  they  resolved  to  return  to  their  brethren  in  the 
Mountains.  So  once  more  they  turned  toward  the  setting  sun. 
After  many  months  of  hard  wayfaring,  they  again  stood  in  the 
midst  of  their  brethren,  in  the  great  mountain  hills  of  their  fathers. 
But  they  who  had  still  preserved  their  purity,  stood  aloof. 

They  freely  offered  them  their  hospitality,  but  refused  to  ad- 
mit them  to  their  feasts  or  their  councils.  The  Prophets  told 
them  they  must  return  and  put  away  the  evil  thing  ;  and  if  after 
many  hundred  years  of  a  true  life,  they  should  become  purged  of 
their  grossness,  they  might  return,  to  be  accepted  and  welcomed 
to  the  bosom  of  their  former  brethren.     Once  more  they  depart- 


THE    ORIGIN    OF    WAR  2(K 


ed  ;  but  when  they  came  agaiu  into  the  land  of  their  former  feast- 
ings,  their  appetites  prevailed,  and  they  forgot  the  words  of  the 
Prophet  in  this  practice,  which  had  now  a  double  power  to  de- 
grade them.  After  many  hundred  years  more,  the  animal  nature 
grew  very  strong.  Then  a  certain  Hunter  dreamed  that  a  spirit, 
as  of  a  beautiful  virgin,  came  to  him,  and  told  him  there  was  a 
dangerous  enemy  at  hand,  and  they  must  arm  themselves,  and 
prepare  for  defence.  She  then  told  him  how  to  make  the  bow 
and  arrow,  and  how  to  fashion  the  war-club.  She  also  instruct- 
ed him  in  certain  arts  and  exercises  which  would  further  arouse 
and  develop  this  power.  The  Hunter,  as  soon  as  he  arose  from 
his  dream,  went  forth  and  procured  a  heavy  and  knotted  piece  of 
wood,  and  made  the  war-club.  He  then,  from  suitable  materials, 
shaped  the  bow  and  arrow.  Then  he  painted,  and  adorned  them 
with  feathers.  Shortly  after,  during  the  absence  of  the  Hunter, 
a  stranger  came  to  the  lodge,  and  told  his  wife  that  he  had 
brought  great  good  for  her  husband ;  but  before  he  could  impart 
his  secret,  she  must  break  his  bow  and  burn  his  war-club.  So 
she  complied.  He  then  said  that  the  Hunter  must  come  to  the 
running  brook  near  by,  and  to  the  great  tree  that  stood  on  its 
banks,  and  then  he  could  meet  him.  The  man  went ;  and  the 
stranger  met  and  slew  him.  When  the  Hunter  came  not  back, 
his  wife  called  her  two  .sons  and  sent  them  forth  to  seek  their 
father.  They  found  the  strangers  and  destroyed  them.  Thus 
they  had  learned  war,  and  never  again  did  they  lose  it. 

"The  kingdom  of  God  cometh  not  with  observation.  Neither 
shall  they  say,  Lo  here  !  or  Lo  there  !  for  behold,  the  kingdom 
of  God  is  within  you." 


"  Man,  during  his  abode  in  this  world,  ought  not  to  omit  the 
practice  of  external  worship,  for  by  external  worship  things  in- 
ternal are  excited,  and  by  external  worship  things  external  are 
kept  in  a  state  of  sanctity,  so  that  internal  things  can  flow  in." 


Jehovah  assumed  the  human,  that  he  might  redeem  and  save 
men.     Thus,  God  became  man,  and  man  God,  in  one  person. 


MY    HARP. 


BY  E.  H.  TAYLOR. 


Neglected  harp  !  thy  strings 

Are  all  untuned  and  still ; 
No  willing  effort  brings 

The  old  remembered  thrill 
That  wildly  swept  along, 

In  days  now  passed  away, 
When  careless,  happy  song, 

Eang  out,  with  accents  gay. 

The  cares  of  life  have  worn, 

Deep  furrows  on  my  brow, 
And  thou,  my  harp  forlorn, 

Hast  no  more  charming  now  ; 
Mute  are  thy  tones,  which  oft 

Have  soothed  some  weary  hour, 
And  all  thy  breathings  soft, 

Have  long  since  lost  their  pow'r. 

Yet  still,  in  evening  time, 

When  balmy  breezes  play, 
Some  joyous  youthful  rhyme, 

Of  life's  bright  gala  day, 
Will  steal  upon  my  heart, 

And  seem  to  touch  thy  strings 
So  deftly,  that  I  start 

To  think  that  Time  had  wings. 


Death  treads  in  pleasure's  footsteps,   when  pleasure  treads 
the  paths  which  reason  shuns. 


If  wisdom's  ways  you  wisely  seek, 
Five  things  observe  with  care  : 

Of  whom  you  speak — to  whom  you  speak — 
And  how,  and  when,  and  where. 


RUTH      MAY 


BY  FANNY  GREEN. 


In  an  old  and  miserable  house  on  Beekman  street,  seated  in  a 
chair  corresponding  with  the  height  of  the  window,  was  a  fine 
looking  matron,  working  hurriedly  at  a  silk  dress.  Her  head  was 
of  a  highly  intellectual  cast ;  and  so  delicate  and  lady-like  did 
she  appear,  I  might  have  believed  her  one  of  her  own  customers. 
Over  a  table  a  little  way  off  leaned  a  pale  and  tender  girl,  who, 
from  the  whole  character  of  her  person  and  expression,  was  evi- 
dently daughter  of  the  first.  The  paper  on  which  she  had  been 
sketching  was  cast  aside,  and  a  picture  having  been  taken  from  a 
portfolio  was  placed  before  her.  With  a  look  of  weariness,  al- 
most of  disgust,  she  proceeded  to  round  the  sharp  lines  and  soften 
the  harsh  coloring.  One  might  see  at  a  glance  that  this  drawing 
had  been  the  work  of  less  skillful  hands  than  her  own  ;  for  she 
was  striving,  with  the  facile  touches  of  a  cunning  and  ready  pen- 
cil, to  hide  and  overrule  the  defects  of  a  previous  worker.  This 
was  no  other  than  Ruth  May,  the  proper  heroine  of  our  coming 
story. 

To  say  that  she  was  beautiful  would  convey  but  a  very  in- 
competent idea  of  the  effect  she  produced  on  every  intelligent 
observer.  Her  physical  form  most  happily  illustrated  that  phi- 
losophy which  makes  the  body  but  the  clothing  of  the  spirit ;  for 
the  delicate  outline,  the  soft  coloring,  the  large,  deep,  changeful 
blue  eyes,  the  expansive  brow,  the  golden  hair,  and  every  speak- 
ing lineament  united  to  form  a  pure  and  exquisite  transparency, 
by  which  the  mind  was  not  only  symbolized,  but  through  which 
the  soul  shone  with  the  radiant  clearness  of  an  in-dwelling  sun. 
Yet  how  few  are  able  to  appreciate  such  characters.  Happy  are 
they  if  their  steps  are  led  even  through  the  sorest  trial,*  to  such  as 
recognize  and  value  them. 

Her  present  occupation  told  that  she  was  a  teacher  of  draw- 
ing— one  of  those  unfortunate  persons  who  are  doomed  with  infi- 
nite labor  to  engraft  their  own  delicate  limnings  on  the  coarse 


206  THE    HESPEKIAN. 


daubs  of  grown  up  misses,  whose  vulgarity,  or  entire  want  of 
artistic  skill  and  conception  first  spoil  the  picture  for  people  of 
taste,  while  the  very  fineness  and  delicacy  of  thought  in  the  teacher 
spoil  it  again  for  those  who  are  to  be  its  final  judges.  And 
thus  the  poor  work,  predestined  to  a  double  martyrdom,  is  hung 
up  amid  gaudy  pictures  in  some  showy  room,  where  the  wonder- 
ing guests  are  told  how  much  better  it  would  have  been  if  the 
taste  and  genius  of  the  young  lady  herself  could  have  been  con- 
sulted a  little  more  in  its  execution. 

Alas  !  that  bright  flush  on  the  pallid  cheek  appears  more  like 
the  bloom  of  hectic  fever  than  the  rich  glow  of  health,  making  it 
too  clearly  probable  that  her  home  is  not  here;  and  that  the  ten- 
der, loving  and  lovely  spirit  will  ere  long  recover  its  wings,  and 
flee  away  to  be  at  rest.  She  was  a  sad,  and  yet  a  happy  sight — 
sad,  that  this  great  earth,  with  all  its  beauty  and  all  its  wealth 
may  so  poorly  cherish  one  so  gentle  and  so  fair — yet  happy,  that 
by  right  of  heirship  in  humanity  she  will  find  a  better  home, 
where  there  is  neither  coldness,  nor  scorn,  nor  unkindness,  and 
where  her  beautiful  head  may  repose  in  the  bosom  of  angels. 

Such  were  the  feelings  with  which  I  first  regarded  her  ;  but 
I  did  not  then  reflect  that  while  the  oak  is  riven  by  the  tempest, 
the  tender  osier  beneath,  bows  its  head  to  the  blast  only  to  rise 
again  unhurt,  and  even  strengthened  by  the  storm.  Such  a  re- 
active power  often  exists  where  it  is  least  expected ;  and  with  it 
our  heroine  was  pre-eminently  gifted.     But  I  anticipate. 

That  Mrs.  May  was  a  widow  might  be  seen  in  her  single  hur- 
ried glance  at  a  fine  picture  ;  harried,  and  yet  how  much  it  took 
in,  during  that  brief  suspension  of  the  busy  needle.  The  painting- 
was  of  a  young  man,  but  by  its  mellow  coloring,  and  antique  dra- 
pery it  must  have  been  wrought  many  years  since  ;  and  from  the 
strong  likeness  to  the  girl,  might  have  been  recognized  as  her 
father.  Mrs.  May  had  been  a  happy  wife ;  for  as  she  paused  a 
moment  from  her  labor,  that  dress  gown  for  the  evening's  party, 
which  she  should  work  unremittingly,  to  finish,  hung  for  an  in- 
stant over  her  knee  forgotten  ;  and  she  was  looking  at  the  can- 
vas fondly  and  lovingly,  as  if  the  husband  of  her  youth  in  the 
spirit  still  dwelt  there.     She  had  flown  back  to  the  pleasant 


RUTH     MAY.  207 


places  of  lier  early  joy,  forgetting  all  the  cold  and  cruel  necessities 
of  the  present. 

The  apartments  occupied  by  these  two  individuals  was  made 
to  fulfill  all  that  might  be  claimed  of  parlor,  kitchen,  work-shop, 
and  reception-room.  But  notwithstanding  the  various  demands 
on  its  capacity,  it  was  kept  with  the  severest  neatness  ;  and  in 
its  furnishing  details  a  few  surviving  wrecks  of  better  da3^s  were 
mingled  with  the  absolute  necessities  of  the  present.  The  whole 
effect  of  the  arrangement  bespoke  comfort,  and  was  not  devoid  of 
elegance.  How  much  of  good  taste  may  be  displayed  in  cheap 
trifles,  and  even  in  the  disposition  of  wooden-seated  chairs  and 
pine  tables. 

As  Ruth  worked  on,  a  tear  fell  on  the  clear  blue  sky  she  was 
just  giving*to  the  sketch — typical,  it  might  be,  of  the  tears  that 
should  overcast  and  mar  the  beauty  of  her  own  heaven.  This 
thought  was,  in  some  wise,  shared  by  another  observer. 

A  fine-looking  Irish  woman,  with  fair  hair,  and  a  face  genial 
and  sunny  as  a  June  day,  stood  with  her  hand  on  the  door-lock, 
as  if  she  had  been  in  the  act  of  departure.  Yet  she  lingered,  and 
her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  girl  with  an  expression  of  intense  in- 
terest. She  stood  silent  a  short  time,  and  then  spoke  with  a 
quick  utterance,  but  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  as  if  thinking  aloud 
rather  than  addressing  another  : — 

"  Bad  luck  to  the  thing  that  makes  ye  cry,  or  graives  ye  at 
all  at  all,  any  how  !  Sure  t's  no  place  for  the  likes  o'  ye  haere, 
for  wouldn't  ye  be  the  brightest  angel  in  Hiven,  an'  no  shame  to 
the  angels,  naither !" 

Ruth  wiped  her  eyes,  looking  up  with  a  sweet  but  sad  smile, 
and  her  mother  at  the  same  time  turned  aside  from  her  work, 
which  had,  as  generally  happens  in  elaborate  finishing,  detained 
her  much  longer  than  she  had  anticipated  with  its  numerous  last 
touches.  She  turned  it  over  with  a  nervous  and  hurried  motion, 
as  if  she  feared  to  detect  some  other  unfinished  point,  and  was  in 
the  act  of  overcasting,  as  she  believed,  the  last  seam,  when  the 
neighbor's  remark  fell  on  her  ear. 

She  glanced  quickly  from  the  speaker  to  her  daughter,  her 
tired  and  faint  expression  of  face  quickened  for  the  moment  by  a 

2 


208  THE    HESPERIAN. 


thought  of  intense  pain.  As  her  weary  eye  rested  on  the  girl, 
perceiving  the  agitation  which  entire  absorption  in  her  own 
work  had,  until  then,  hindered  her  from  seeing,  she  exclaimed, 
"  My  poor  child  !  you  are  not  as  well  as  usual  to-day  !" 

Then,  after  regarding  her  for  a  moment  with  a  deeply  sorrow- 
ful and  boding  look,  she  added,  "  You  are  really  ill !  Come  my 
love,  throw  aside  that  ugly  daub.  You  cannevermake  anything 
of  it,  and  why  will  you  try?" 

"  Why,  mother?  "  answered  Ruth,  looking  up  with  an  expres- 
sion of  quiet  and  determined  suffering  nearly  allied  to  despair, — 
"  why,  but  that  I  may  share  the  burden  that  is  too  heavy  to  rest 
wholly  on  you?  "  and  she  added  after  a  short  pause,  while  a 
shiver  passed  over  her  slight  frame,  "  if  you  must  perjsh  by  the 
severity  of  unpaid  labor,  that  I  may  die  with  you." 

"  Your  once  hopeful  nature  seems  to  be  changing,  my  love," 
responded  Mrs.  May,  regarding  her  anxiously.  "  Are  you  not 
looking  forward  to  a  day  of  respite  for  us  both  ?  A  happy  day 
that  will  be,  my  child ;  and  in  the  meantime  let  us  get  along 
quietly  and  trustingly  as  possible.  Now,  as  a  friend,  let  me  ad- 
vise— nay,  as  a  mother,  who  has  a  claim  to  obedience  and  expects 
it,"  she  added,  playfully  withdrawing  the  sketch  from  the  table, 
and  passing  a  hand  soothingly  over  the  changing  cheek,  which 
had  turned  from  scarlet  to  an  ashy  paleness,  and  then  back  to  a 
deep  crimson  hue,  "  I  forbid  you  to  work  any  more  to-day.  My 
anxiety  for  you,  as  I  have  often  told  you,  not  only  adds  to  my 
cares,  but  deprives  me  of  the  strength  necessary  to  meet  them. 
Besides,  you  are  doing  no  good.  Your  delicate  touches  and  soft 
coloring,  will  not,  and  cannot,  disguise  all  that  glare  and  coarse- 
ness. It  grieves  me  to  the  heart  to  see  you  wearing  yourself  out 
with  so  small  reward — so  little  hope  !" 

"You  know,  dear  mother,  that  Mrs.  Bennett  has  promised  to 
recommend  me  to  her  friends,  and  to  use  her  influence  in  getting 
me  pupils,  if  I  succeed  in — in — " 

"  Infusing  brain  and  good  taste  into  her  brainless  and  vulvar 
daughters,"  suggested  Mrs.  May.  "  But  I  am  losing  all  faith  in 
that  ostentatious  parade  of  kindness,  and  I  have  come  to  believe 
that  the  good  feeling  for  which  I  once  gave  her  credit,  so  far  as 


RUTH     MAT.  209 


to  tolerate  her  rudeness,  is  but  a  coarse  and  flimsy  veil  thrown 
over  the  grossest  selfishness.  And  besides,  my  love,  the  people  she 
is  familiar  with,  however  rich  they  may  be,  must  yet  be  low-bred 
and  vulgar  like  herself;  and  depend  on  it,  my  child,  she  could 
never  open  to  you  a  sphere  where  you  could  be  either  appreci- 
ated or  rewarded  properly.  Therefore  I  doubt,  not  only  her  will, 
but  her  power  to  serve  you.  If  she  brings  you  into  any  notice, 
I  fear  it  will  be  from  such  as  will  be  most  likely  to  complete  the 
work  she  has  begun  ;  who,  by  their  exorbitant  demands,  and 
meagre  acknowledgements,  will  sap  your  strength,  and  rob  you 
entirely  of  health,  heart,  and  hope.  I  can  suffer  this  no  longer. 
You  are  losing  vigor  and  spirits  every  day." 

"  Do  not,  O,  do  not,  dear  mother,  deprive  me  of  the  little 
hope  I  have,"  responded  Euth,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Nay,  my  love,"  returned  Mrs.  May,  "I  would  inspire  you 
with  v.  better  and  higher  hope.  Let  us  try  and  get  you  well ;" 
she  added,  drawing  the  girl  to  her  bosom,  and  kissing  the  tears 
from  her  glowing  cheek,  "  and  then,  I  doubt  not,  we  shall  find 
some  situation." 

Ruth  sobbed  piteously,  but  said  nothing  ;  for  she  began  fully 
to  comprehend  the  frailty  of  the  reed — nay,  the  very  straw  on 
which  she  had  leaned,  for  lack  of  other  prop  to  her  almost  out- 
wearied  hope.  It  is  a  fearful  thing  for  the  young  to  find  any  trust 
shaken,  but  especially  one  invested  with  such  tremendous  conse- 
quences, amounting  very  nearly  to  life  or  death.  But  there  was 
a  latent  strength  in  the  mind  of  Ruth,  which,  lying  covert  under 
her  extreme  gentleness,  would  often  surprise  one  with  its  sudden 
uprising.  She  quickly  wiped  her  tears  away,  and  putting  aside 
her  work,  said  "  What  shall  I  do  to  please  you,  dearest  mother  ?" 

"  Get  '  The  Flower,'  my  love,  and  read  to  me  awhile,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  May.  "  Come,  my  dear,  you  know  I  have  this  other 
dress  to  alter.  It  must  be  done  by  eight  o'clock.  But  if  you 
read  to  me  my  work  will  get  on  much  more  rapidly.  There  is  a 
soothing  power  in  your  voice  that  quiets  my  nervous  irritability. 
Besides,  the  book  is  to  be  returned  to-morrow,  and  we  shall  lose 
the  reading  of  it  if  we  do  not  take  it  up  now." 

"  Do,  do  !  dear  mother !  let  me  help  you  on  with  your  work 


210  THE    HESPERIAN. 


first !     I  fear  you  will  not — indeed  I  know  you  cannot  finish  it 
alone." 

"  Do  not,  my  child,  increase  my  perplexity  by  these  anxious 
fears  on  your  account;  or  I  shall  be  able  to  do  nothing,"  replied 
Mrs.  May.  Then  tnrning  to  the  neighbor,  who  yet  lingered  on 
the  threshold,  she  said,  "  Come,  Mrs.  Connal,  you  are  a  mother 
and  must  know  my  feelings ;  help  me  to  persuade  this  naughty 
girl  of  mine." 

"  Ah,  it's  the  pleasant  things  she  ought  to  be  doin',  and  noth- 
in'  ilse,  sure !"  responded  the  latter. 

"  Mother,"  said  Ruth,  rising  suddenly,  and  looking  earnestly 
in  the  face  of  her  she  addressed,  "I  have  now  no  other  in  the 
wide  world  to  love  me  or  care  for  me  but  you  ;  and  certainly  I 
ought  to  do  as  you  wish  !" 

"No  other!  my  child!"  repeated  Mrs.  May,  in  accents  of 
wild  alarm.     "  No  other  to  love  or  care  for  you  ?" 

"  Not  yet — I  cannot  tell  you  yet — !"  and  gasping  out  these 
words,  the  poor  girl  wrung  her  arms  round  her  mother,  and  then 
left  the  room. 

"  Ah,  there's  somethin'  in  the  heart  like — somethin'  forbye 
the  labor,  misthress  May  !"  said  the  Irish  friend.  "  Depind  on't, 
there's  somethin'  goin'  wrong  in  that  young  brist !" 

"  I  am  astonished  at  what  you  say — at  what  she  said ;  but 
still  more  at  my  own  stupidity  in  not  having  perceived  something 
of  this  before,"  said  Mrs.  May. 

"  I'se  watched  her  these  two  munts,"  pursued  the  other,  "an' 
she's  niver  the  same  she  was,  when  she'd  use  to  be  singin'  all 
day  long,  till  the  birds  themsilves  would  listen  to  larn  her  music 
— if  any  birds  could  hear  her  through  all  these  ugly  brick  walls 
— bad  joy  to  thim  I  say,  an'  a  tumble  down  into  the  bargain,  just 
for  shuttin'  out  the  bright  sun  and  frish  air — as  if  the  rich  ones 
that  built  them  up  so  high  would  lock  hiven  itself,  wid  its  bright 
light  and  its  frish  air,  to  kaep  it  away  from  the  poor.  But 
wasn't  the  darlint  happy  whin  she'd  be  givin'  a  bit  o'  cake  or  a 
lump  o'  candy  to  Bridget,  or  Pat,  or  Maggy,  or  tachin'  thim  to 
read  as  naither  father  nor  mother  can  do,  in  the  purty  primer 
she's  give  them.      Why  the  childers  thimsilves  has  saen  the 


EUTH    MAT.  211 


change.  What  did  little  Denny  say  to  me  the  day,  as  I  was  plait- 
in'  the  frill  or  Mr.  Bennet's  shirt  ?  Bad  standin'  to  him  that 
would' nt  give  his  poor  neighbors  rist  for  the  soles  o'  their  feet — 
him  that's  wringin'  the  swit  from  the  face  o'the  poor — bad  luck 
to  his  hard  heart,  I  say,  for  he  niver'll  give  the  price  for  the  la- 
bor that'll  light  the  fire  or  muke  the  swit  come  widout  the  work, 
anyhow,  lettin'  alone  a  bit  for  the  young  uns,  and  lavin'  dthrink 
iutirely  out  o'  the  quistion.  An'  what  did  little  Denny  say  but, 
'  Miss  Ruthy  did'nt  tell  us  stories  now,  mother,  honey !  An'  if 
she  tills  us  any  they  meks  us  cry,  an'  not  laugh  an'  glad's  they 
used !  An'  her  chaek  is  pale  forbye.  Is  Miss  Ruthy  sick — an' 
is  she,  mother  dear  V  " 

The  speaker  was  not  interrupted,  for  her  one  hearer  had  nei- 
ther will  nor  power  to  do  so,  and  she  went  on  : — 

"  But,  Misthress  May,  there  zssomethin'  wrong  come  over  the 
heart  o'  the  young  thing,  that  ye  may  depind  on.  Sure  she's 
niver  looked  up  sin  the  day  Misther  Spencer  was  haere  last." 

She  paused  again,  as  if  conscious  of  having  reached  a  tender 
point,  which  the  intuition  of  a  naturally  delicate  mind  led  her  to 
perceive,  and  unfailing  womanly  tact  helped  her  to  suggest 
without  offence.  "  Are  ye  sure,"  she  continued,  drawing  near, 
and  speaking  in  a  lower  tone — "  are  ye  sure  it's  nothin'  concernin' 
him,  like  ?  Och  !  it's  the  writch  that  could  thrifle  wid  a  born 
angel  like  her  desarves  the  fire  an'  brim  stun  an'  an  etarnity  to 
himself  along  wid  it,  forbye!" 

Notwithstanding  the  idea  of  ultra  vengeance  couched  in  the 
above  expression,  the  countenance  of  the  speaker  showed  that 
she  would  be  one  of  the  last  among  human  judges  that  would 
ever  inflict  a  severe  or  protracted  suffering  on  a  fellow  creature ; 
for  its  broad-beaming  and  frank  expression  indicated  a  heart  full 
and  absolutely  running  over  with  good  nature  and  benevolence. 

Mrs.  May  had  let  her  work  fall,  and  was  sitting  with  clasped 
hands,  while  a  rapid  succession  of  ideas,  yet  all  painful,  seemed 
displacing  each  other  in  her  mind  as  she  hurried  from  fact  to  fact, 
gathering  from  each  succeeding  one  still  stronger  evidence  of  the 
dreadful  truth. 

[To  be  continued.] 


THE    BETTER    GIFT. 


BY  ELIZA  A.  P1TTSIXGER. 


Along  the  ever-changing  measure 

Of  Life's  dsedalion,  mazy  round, 
Oh  who  the  fair  and  glittering  treasure 

That  charms  the  inward  soul  hath  found  ? 
Oh  who  from  put  the  dim  ordeal 
Hath  seized  the  dazzling,  bright  ideal  1 

O'er  rugged  paths  where  Fame  is  wreathing 
Victorious  brows  with  garlands  fair, 

To  Eden-bowers  where  love  is  breathing 
Her  spirit  forth  in  melting  prayer — 

Oh  who  upon  the  soul's  bright  pinion 

Hath  soared  into  the  charmed  dominion  ? 

Her  gifts  proud  Fortune  e'er  bestowing 
On  those  who  wait  to  grasp  the  prize, 

Whose  waning  stars  are  ever  showing 
The  fickle  radiance  of  her  skies — 

Oh,  Child  of  Light !  Beloved  of  Heaven  ! 

A  fairer  boon  to  you  is  given  ! 

Let  not  thy  plumes  with  beauty  glowing 

Droop  where  the  darkening  shadows  spring- 
But  o'er  the  river's  purple  flowing 

Unfold  thy  bright,  triumphant  wing  ! 
Call  forth  the  latent  spark  that  slumbers, 
And  tune  thy  soul  to  burning  numbers  ! 

May  Truth's  fair  image,  like  a  mirror, 

Reflect  thy  spirifs  inner  light! 
Whose  radiance  shall  eclipse  forever 

Dim  forms  within  the  Realms  of  Night — 
Oh  rise  from  out  thy  gloomy  prison, 
And  slake  thy  thirst  from  founts  elysian ! 

Dost  hear  the  low  and  silvery  leaping 
Along  the  banks  of  crystal  streams, 

That  o'er  thy  charmed  soul  is  creeping, 
In  soft  ambrosial-haunting,  dreams  ? 

Then  let  the  earth  drawn  veil  be  riven, 

And  soar  into  the  liquid  heaven  ! 

Dost  hear  the  warbling  of  the  fountain, 
Whose  music  melts  upon  the  breeze  ? 


THE    BETTER    GIFT. 


21! 


Hast  seen  the  golden- crested  mountain 

Where  blooms  the  fragrant  Eden-trees  ? 
Then  swell  the  song  with  beauty  laden, 
Fresh-wafted  from  the  fields  of  Aiden  ! 

Oh  who  hath  rent  the  veil  of  ether, 

And  gazed  into  the  liquid  blue, 
And  quenched  his  spirit's  burning  fever 

From  living  founts  of  balmy  dew — 
Far  up  the  starry  vault  ascending, 
"Where  scene  with  gorgeous  scene  is  blending  ? 

Dost  hear  aloft  the  joyous  chanting 
Down-wafted  from  the  angel-choir, 

Whose  blissful  strains  thy  sadness  haunting, 
Uplifts  from  earth  thy  lone  desire? 

Then  grasp  the  harp  with  glowing  fingers, 

And  swell  the  joy  that  round  thee  lingers  ! 

Oh,  Child  of  Song  !  of  Golden  Vision  ! 

Whose  flight  from  summer-realms  afar, 
To  the  Lone  Pilgrim  on  his  mission 

Hast  ever  been  the  Guiding  Star — 
Oh  Child  of  Song  !  to  you  is  given 
To  touch  the  Magic-Key  of  Heaven ! 

For  you  fair  Nature's  face  is  glowing, 

Melodious  her  music  springs — 
On  you  her  secret  lore  bestowing, 

Deep-hidden  from  the  pride  of  kings  ; 
Oh,  charm  thy  spirit  from  its  sadness, 
And  chant  her  morning  hymn  of  gladness  ! 

# 
Swell  forth  her  songs  in  varied  measure  ! 

Breathe  out  the  low  and  melting  strain ! 
Guard  well  the  pure  and  sacred  treasure, 

If  thou  the  sunny  height  would  gain — 
And  from  the  dim  and  shadowy  real, 
Seek  thy  soul's  Divine  Ideal ! 


He  is  indeed  the  wisest  and  the  happiest  man,  who  by  con- 
stant attention  of  thought,  discovers  the  greatest  opportunities 
of  good,  and,  with  ardent  and  animated  resolution,  breaks 
through  every  opposition,  that  he  may  improve  those  opportuni- 
ties. 


NATIVE     JALAP. 


BY    DR.    A.    KELLOGG. 


[For  Illustrations  see  pp.  192-3.] 

As  Prof.  Lindley  remarks,  the  best  sort  of  Jalap  is  obtained 
from  a  beautiful  twiner  with  long  crimson  flowers,  (Exogonium 
purga),  found  in  Mexico.  The  article  of  commerce  is,  however, 
collected  from  many  other  plants  of  the  same  natural  family. 

The  roots  of  our  commoif  native  species  may,  undoubtedly, 
be  used  with  nearly  equal  advantage.  Known,  as  these  facts 
may  be  to  the  medical  profession,  the  public  in  general  are  not 
sufficiently  familiar  with  the  forms  of  the  plants  here  alluded  to. 
Knowledge,  to  be  properly  available,  often  requires  a  complete- 
ness that  banishes  doubt  and  inspires  confidence,  especially  with 
regard  to  the  means  which  concern  life  and  health.  Useful 
plants  may  be  relatively  associated  with  some  poisonous  mem- 
bers of  the  same  family  ;  and  they  are  not  always  easily  distin- 
guished— e.  g.,  the  poison  called  Guaco  in  Mexico,  is  a  species  of 
Morning-glory,  like  those  we  propose  to  illustrate. 

Our  first  plant  here  figured,  (page  192),  is  the  Cahjstegia 
spithamcea.  Often  variable  both  in  size  and  form,  owing  to 
locality,  and  perhaps  to  seasons.  The  plant,  it  will  be  seen,  has 
twin  flower-stems  from  trfe  same  fork  or  axil  of  the  leaf,  (one  of 
which  is  cut  off).  It  is  frequently  seen  with  merely  a  condensed 
tuft  of  little  leaves,  apparently  without  any  stem ;  in  this  state 
of  growth  it  may  be  ^the  plant  described  as  Convulmdm  sub- 
acaulis. 

It  very  much  resembles  another  'smooth  stemed  species, 
with  kidney-shaped  leaves  and  solitary  flowers,  found  along  the 
sandy  sea-shore — of  which  we  have  no  sketch  prepared — C.  sol- 
danella,  or  C.  renformis,  a  variety  of  the  same). 

The  flower  is  remarkably  large,  whitish  or  flesh-colored, 
and  changing  to  purplish.  We  find  much  difficulty  in  obtaining 
a  specimen  this  season,  whereas  a  year  ago  it  was  quite  common. 

Our  second  outline  sketch  is  the  C.  sepium,  a  beautiful  peren- 


NATIVE    JALAP. 


215 


WILD    MORNING-GLORY. 


nial  woody  twiner, 
growing  in  favorable 
locations,  from  twenty 
to  thirty  feet  in  height, 
and  blooming  nearly 
the  whole  year  round  ; 
the  flowers,  it  is  true, 
are  not  so  gayly-color- 
ed  as  the  common  an- 
nual Morning  -  glory, 
but  being  perennial  in 
this  climate,  and  cloth- 
ed to  some  extent  with 
winter  verdure,  it  will 
undoubtedly  become  a 
native  favorite  for  lat- 
tice training.  Indeed, 
a  few  of  our  worthy 
citizens  have  already  cultivated  this  ornamental  vine  about  their 
residences.  The  flowers  are  whitish  or  of  a  pale  pinkish  blush, 
on  axillary  stems  about  twice  as  long  as  the  leaves,  and  from  one 
to  three  on  each ;  slightly  angular  near  the  opposite  minute 
leafy  bracts.  The  stem  and  leaves  smooth,  (except  on  each  side 
of  the  groove  of  the  leaf  stem,  which  is  rough),  upper  portion 
of  the  vine  covered  with  a  delicate  bloom. 

Flowers  opening  in  the  morning  and  in  foggy  and  cloudy 
weather.  The  plant  as  growing  does  not  agree  in  all  points 
with  the  descriptions ;  from  which  we  conclude  it  is  very 
variable. 

A  small  teaspoonful  of  the  expressed  juice,  says  Haller,  is  an 
active  hydragogue  purgative  in  dropsies.  A  substitute  for  scam- 
mony,  styled  German  scammony.  An  ounce  and  a  half  of  the 
extract  of  the  root,  with  aloes  two  drachms,  and  ginger  one 
drachm,  act  with  ease,  where  cathartics  are  needed. 

The  third  figure,  (page  193),  is  the  Conmlvulus  arvensis ;  or 
Field  Bindweed. 

An  introduced  plant — a  pernicious  interloper — almost  justi- 


216  THE    HESPEKIAN. 


fying  the  application  of  a  phrase  used  on  another  occasion, 
"  and  behold,  Satan  carne  also."  It  behooves  the  farmer  to  use 
all  diligence  to  destroy  this  pest,  as  it  is  very  tenacious  of 
vitality,  having  a  perennial  root  and  also  easily  distributed  by 
slips,  with  the  plow,  which  take  root  readily  and  grow  so 
abundantly,  as  often  to  choak  and  destroy  whole  crops.  It 
would  be  very  impolitic  in  us  to  dwell  upon  its  pretty  flowers, 
lest  we  be  denounced  also. 


An  Electeical  Lady. — A  respectable  physician,  in  a  num- 
ber of  Sillimatfs  Journal,  relates  the  following  curious  account 
of  an  Electrical  Lady.  He  states,  that  on  the  evening  of 
January  28th,  1839,  during  a  somewhat  extraordinary  display  of 
northern  lights,  the  person  in  question  became  so  highly  charged 
with  electricity,  as  to  give  out  vivid  electrical  sparks  from  the 
end  of  each  finger  to  the  face  of  each  of  the  company  present. 
This  did  not  cease  with  the  heavenly  phenomenon,  but  continued 
for  several  months,  during  which  time  she  was  constantly 
charged,  and  giving  off  electrical  sparks  to  every  conductor  she 
approached.  This  was  extremely  vexacious,  as  she  could  not 
touch  the  stove,  nor  any  metallic  utensils,  without  first  giving 
off  an  electrical  spark,  with  the  consequent  twinge.  The  state 
most  favorable  to  this  phenomenon,  was  an  atmosphere  of  about 
eighty  degrees  Fahrenheit,  moderate  exercise,  and  social  enjoy- 
ment. It  disappeared  in  any  atmosphere  approaching  zero,  and 
under  the  debilitating  effects  of  fear.  When  seated  by  the  stove, 
reading,  with  her  feet  upon  the  fender,  she  gave  sparks  at  the 
rate  of  three  or  four  a  minute  ;  and  under  the  most  favorable  cir- 
cumstances, a  spark  that  could  be  seen,  heard,  or  felt,  passed 
every  second  !  She  could  charge  others  in  the  same  way,  when 
insulated,  who  could  then  give  sparks  to  others.  To  make  it  sa- 
tisfactory that  her  dress  did  not  produce  it,  it  was  changed  to  cot- 
ton and  woollen  without  altering  the  phenomenon.  The  lady  is 
about  thirty,  of  sedentary  pursuits,  and  delicate  state  of  health, 
having  for  two  years  previously  suffered  from  acute  rheumatism 
and  neuralgic  affections,  with  peculiar  symptoms. 


THE  MUSICIAN'S  LAST  HOUR. 


BY   PARK  BENJAMIN. 


The  good  old  man  lay  dying.     Soft  and  cool 

Played  the  light  summer  breeze  among  the  leaves 

Of  a  deep  foliaged  tree,  that  cast  its  shade 

Into  the  window  of  his  quiet  room. 

It  made  a  rustling  whisper  like  the  hush 

Of  a  fond  mother  o'er  her  sleeping  babe. 

And  all  were  still — yet  many  friends  were  there, 

Who  oft  bad  hung  enchanted,  on  the  sounds 

Flowing  from  those  pale  lips,  springing  like  thought 

Beneath  the  touch  of  those  thin  stirless  fingers. 

He  slept — how  calm  !  and  oh  !  methinks  he  dreamed ! 

He  dreamed  of  starry  music — of  the  spheres 

Making  rich  harmony— of  seraph's  harps, 

Thrilling  and  trembling  to  the  heavenly  plumes 

That  fanned  their  golden  wires.     He  heard  the  song 

Of  cherubim,  symphonious,  faint  and  low; 

For  soft  he  smiled,  and  seemed  intent  to  hear — 

He  heard  the  choir  of  angels,  loud  and  full, 

Pouring  a  flood  of  music  ;  for  he  stirred 

With  restless  fervor,  and  his  eyelids  rose. 

'Twas  but  the  breeze  disquieting  his  slumber — 

Throwing  the  branches  of  the  leafy  tree 

Against  the  lattice — freshening  as  the  ray 

Of  sunset  deepened,     Its  first,  low-sounding  tones 

Had  mingled  with  his  fancy,  and  he  dreamed 

Of  gentle  cadence  :  when  it  louder  swelled 

He  heard  the  angel  chorus,  and  awoke  ! 

Turning  his  feeble  gaze  upon  the  forms 
That  stood  around,  subdued  to  breathless  awe, 
He  seemed  to  seek  for  some  dear  countenance. 
The  inquiring  look  was  answered — for  a  girl, 
As  lovely  as  the  seraph  of  his  dream, 
With  voice  as  charming,  to  his  pillow  leaned 
And  sobbed  :  "  What  wilt  thou  with  me,  oh !   my  father  ?' 
"  I'm  dying,  Ella,  dying  !  play  an  air 
Upon  thy  harp — its  chords  I  would  hear  thrill 
With  the  deep  music  which  I  taught  and  loved, 
And  still  love  next  to  thee,  mine  own,  and  Heaven  !" 
The  maiden  went,  and  with  a  faltering  step 


218  THE    HESPERIAN. 


Approached  her  harp.     She  lightly  touched  the  strings, 

Prelusive  to  some  strain,  as  sad  and  solemn 

As  the  lone  swan's  first  but  last  warbled  song. 

Sudden  the  old  man  rose.     His  dim  eye  lightened  ; 

His  hands  he  threw  as  if  in  rapid  flight. 

Across  the  chords,  and  clearly  spoke — "  Not  so! 

Not  so  !  my  daughter— not  a  mournful  theme  ; 

For  I  would  triumph  over  Death,  and  soar 

Victorious  as  a  conqueror  to  his  throne  ! 

Be  it  a  martial  air!" 

The  maiden  paused 
A  moment  only  ;  for  new  courage  flashed 
O'er  her  bright  brow — and  Inspiration,  caught 
From  her  great  father's  spirit,  gave  her  power 
To  sweep  the  chords  with  firm  and  brilliant  hand. 
She  played  a  Triumph,  such  as  Miriam  sung, 
When  Israel's  rescued  armies  passed  the  sea ! 


The  sunset's  latest  beams  streamed  broadly  in 
Upon  the  old  man's  couch.     His  visage  shone 
As  if  the  portals  of  the  sky  were  thrown 
Apart  before  his  sway.     The  harp  still  flung 
Majestic  musie  on  his  raptured  ear ; 
And  with  the  utterance  of  a  mighty  strain, 
He  fell  upon  his  pillow — and  was  still ! 
His  soul  had  floated  on  that  wave  of  sound 
To  Heaven  ! 


Those  who  sincerely  desire  to  be  in  the  stream  of  Providence, 
will  be  carried  onwards  by  it,  through  every  moment  to  the  end 
of  life.  There  may  be  seasons  of  anxiety  and  doubt ;  there  may 
be  times  of  trouble  and  affliction ;  but  all  these  things  are  over- 
ruled for  the  ultimate  good  of  those  who  keep  the  Lord  before 
them,  and  swerve  not  willingly  from  the  path  of  duty.  Be  it 
our  wisdom,  therefore,  as  it  is  our  duty,  to  submit  to  the  laws  of 
Divine  order,  and  all  things  shall  work  together  for  our  eternal 
good. 

One  cannot  benefit  others,  without  being  benefitted  in  re- 
turn. 


MRS.    GRISCOM'S   LEGACY. 


The  new  moon  of  a  rather  frosty  October  evening  glanced 
lustrously  between  the  sweeping  folds  of  crimson  curtains 
looped  on  either  side  of  the  deep  bay  windows  that  lighted 
Mrs.  Griscom's  drawing-room.  In  a  high-backed,  carved 
and  cushioned  chair,  not  unlike  a  throne,  sat  the  lady  of  the 
mansion,  her  feet  resting  upon  a  footstool,  and  an  ornamental 
screen  placed  between  herself  and  the  blazing  wood  fire. 

She  was  a  noticeable  woman,  her  noble,  muscular  frame — 
her  erect  position,  the  ample  spread  of  garment  and  grand  effective 
repose  of  limb  and  feature,  made  her  seem  not  unlike  some  queen 
giving  audience  to  her  court,  whereas  but  one  solitary  individual 
occupied  that  great  room  beside  herself,  and  this  person  was  a 
niece  who  resided  with  her. 

Mrs.  Griscom's  toilette  was  always  made  with  care,  whether 
she  had  guests  present  to  admire  her  toumure  or  not,  and  the 
draping  of  her  satin  of  russet  hue,  rich  with  the  sheen  of 
embroidered  flowers  and  relieved  upon  the  corsage  and  sleeves 
with  white  lace  of  exquisite  texture,  set  off  to  fine  advantage  her 
distinguished  appearance. 

The  features  of  this  lady's  face  harmonized  with  her  person, 
being  large  and  distinctively  marked,  the  lineaments  bespeaking 
a  haughty  determined  nature.  Yet  a  certain  softness  mellowed 
her  countenance.  It  may  have  been  the  twilight  of  old  age  that 
spread  this  tender  light  upon  the  otherwise  harsh  aspect. 

The  soft,  silver  white  hair,  only  partly  covered  by  a  head- 
dress, was  arranged  in  puffs  around  her  lofty  forehead,  and  added 
to  the  regal  venerableness  of  her  presence. 

Beside  a  small  table  with  her  long  jewelled  fingers  engrossed 
in  fashioning  a  delicate  piece  of  embroidery,  sat  the  other  occu- 
pant of  the  apartment. 

The  young  moon  enthroned  in  the  amber-tinted  sky,  to  whom 
she  ever  and  anon  threw  a  friendly  glance,  seemed  a  type  of  this 
young  girl's  mind — a  girl-queen  newly  crowned — timid  under 


220  THE     HESPEEIAX. 


the  responsibility,  yet  eager  from  conscious  power  to  bear  the 
weight  of  the  royal  tiara.  A  physiognomist  might  trace  a 
resemblance  to  the  aunt  in  the  proud  face  of  Gertrude  Congreve, 
but  the  squareness  of  visage,  the  muscular  fashion  of  jaw  and 
cheek  bone  were  lacking.  Gertrude,  with  her  tall  graceful 
rounded  form,  heavy  hair,  and  pale  intellectual  countenance, 
impressed  the  beholder  as  an  elegaut,  high-born  lady — a  willful, 
imperious  lady  too,  some  persons  thought  her. 

"  Gertrude,"  said  her  aunt,  renewing  a  conversation  which 
they  had  both  tacitly  dropped  for  a  time,  that  the  excited  feelings 
which  the  topic  had  engendered  might  subside — "You  will  live 
to  see  your  attachment  to  Colonel  Thorn  in  its  true  light  as  a 
gross  infatuation." 

"  It  may  be  as  you  say  aunt,"  replied  Gertrude,  throwing  an 
ennuied  glance  across  her  shoulder  at  the  queenly  crescent  visible 
through  the  window — "  but  with  all  deference  permit  me  to  say 
that  your  friendship  for  Mr.  Knightly  appears  to  me  as  much  an 
infatuation." 

"But,  Gertrude  you  forget  I  have  long  known  and  esteemed 
the  Knightly  family.  Gerald  Knightly  inherits  his  father's 
noblest  traits  of  character  than  whom  a  truer  friend  or  more 
exalted  mind  never  lived  ;  I  know  in  his  attachment  to  you  his 
son  is  not  prompted  by  mercenary  motives,  as  a  clergyman  he  is 
beloved  and  worshipped  by  his  people,  his  living  is  one  of  the 
finest  in  the  district,  and  it  is  because  he  loves  you  for  yourself 
alone  that  I  wish  to  see  you  united,  then  I  could  leave  you,  and 
meet  my  end  in  peace." 

"  Pray  let  the  grievous  question  drop  ;  as  to  my  marrying  a 
prosey  commonplace  clergyman,  the  idea  is  insupportable,  and  as 
to  mercenary  views  Colonel  Thorn  is  as  far  removed  from  such 
an  imputation  as  the  king  himself  might  be,  if  he  sought  my 
hand." 

"  Gertrude,  my  child,"  said  her  aunt,  heaving  a  compassionate 
sigh,  "it  is  only  as  my  heiress  that  Colonel  Thorn  seeks  your 
hand." 

"  Oh  aunt,  it  is  unbearable!"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  rising  to 
her  feet,  and  for  some  time  she  paced  up  and  down  the  length  of 


MRS.  griscom's  legacy.  221 

the  drawing-room  in  imrestful  silence  ;  pausing  at  length,  she 
approached  her  aunt,  and  said  impressively,  "  You  are  mistaken, 
greatly  mistaken  and  unjustly  prejudiced  against  him — he  cares 
nothing  for  my  prospective  wealth,  you  yourself  can  judge  if  it 
is  not  so  ;  when  I  mentioned  to  him  your  fears  in  this  particular 
he  solemnly  vowed — "  here  she  paused,  and  the  warm  blood 
mounted  her  cheek  at  the  thought  of  repeating  to  an  unsympa- 
thising  ear,  words  which  had  so  thrilled  her  own  heart ;  subduing 
her  sensation  with  a  hurried  effort  she  proceeded ;  "  he  said  if  I 
were  heiress  of  no  other  estate  than  Denwood  Manor,  he  would 
claim  me  as  his  bride." 

"  Denwood  Manor  !  did  he  say  that  Gertrude.  He  is  a  bold, 
bad  man,  and  it  is  but  fair  to  give  his  valor  a  trial.  How  dare 
he  mention  the  place,  the  Infidel  ?  I  wonder  God's  judgment 
did  not  strike  him  down  to  the  earth  !" 

"You  are  strangely  unjust,  aunt ;  he  told  me  all  he  knew 
about  the  affair  that  happened  there  years  ago.     Said  he  could, 
not   hope  to    change   your    convictions — but  that   you  would 
remember  he  was  not  the  first  man  who  had  suffered  from  your 
unfair  suspicions." 

Mrs.  Griscom  made  no  reply  to  this  for  some  time.  At  length 
she  spoke  with  that  husky  tone  peculiar  to  aged  persons  when 
deeply  excited : 

"It  is  a  painful  subject,  Gertrude,  and  for  twenty  years  I 
have  banished  it  from  my  lips — nought  but  your  welfare,  my 
child,  could  have  tempted  me  to  refer  to  it.  It  is  true  that  I 
wrongly  suspected  my  husband  of  being  privy  to  the  disappear- 
ance of  Amie  Hunt  the  game-keeper's  daughter.  He  had  always 
admired  her.  RichUd  Thorn  was  a  youth  then  of  twenty — I 
confess  my  thoughts  did  not  point  him  out  at  that  time  as  the 
guilty  party.  Two  years  passed  by  and  Amie  did  not  return,  and 
all  that  time  I  had  not  yet  forgiven  my  husband. 

"I  had  one  true  friend  who  besought  me  to  be  reconciled  to 
him,  and  overlook  his  error,  if  such  it  was  ;  this  friend  was 
George  Knightly,  the  father  of  the  present  incumbent,  and  him- 
self a  clergyman  of  high  repute. 

"  I  was  gradually  growing  less  hostile  to  his  advice,  and  if  my 


222  THE     HESPERIAN. 


husband  had  been  spared,  I  should,  most  likely,  have  forgiven 
him  his  supposed  fault ;  but  Grod  saw  fit  to  punish  me  ;  he  was 
taken  suddenly  from  me, — killed  by  a  fall  from  his  horse  while 
on  a  hunt.  Even  at  that  time,  Denwood  Manor  was  a  neglected, 
ruinous  piece  of  property. 

"  It  had  come  into  my  husband's  possession  shortly  before 
his  death.  He  had  purchased  it  of  Colonel  Thorn's  father  (for 
they  were  intimate  friends,)  from  a  good-natured  wish  to  aid  him. 
Lennox  Thorn  was  a  wasteful,  careless  man,  and  had  permitted 
himself  to  become  sadly  incumbered  with  debt.  It  was  while 
on  a  visit  to  this  place  that  I  came  into  possession  of  facts  con- 
cerning the  disappearance  of  Amie  Hunt,  to  have  obtained  which 
before  the  death  of  my  husband,  I  would  have  purchased  with 
my  whole  inheritance.  "  The  place  is  situated  in  a  cold,  desolate 
spot ;  save  a  few  miner's  huts  the  district  seems  uninhabited ;  of 
course  I  expected  to  find  the  house  deserted,  but  on  entering  one 
of  the  wings,  bare  and  unfurnished,  I  was  surprised  to  discover 
an  old  woman  setting  before  a  fire  of  crackling  twigs,  warming 
her  hands.  She  seemed  bewildered  by  my  arrival,  and  shook 
from  head  to  foot,  either  with  palsy  or  ague.  I  thought  her  ill, 
or  hungry,  and  sent  to  my  traveling  carriage  for  wine  and  other 
refreshments. 

The  wine  seemed  to  revive  her,  as  she  arose  and  hobbled 
toward  the  door,  slowly,  for  she  was  nearly  bent  double  with  age. 
After  closing  it  softly,  lifting  up  her  finger  and  approaching  me 
on  tiptoe,  she  asked  in  a  mysterious  whisper  : 

'  Ha  ye  come  for  the  young  Lassie  ?  come  here,'  and  she 
beckoned  me  closer.  '  Don't  ye  gang  up  there— for  the  Holy 
Leddy's  wi'  her — she  can't  be  hungry — I  ha'flost  the  keys.'  " 

"  I  was  fearful  she  was  crazy,  and  not  wishing  to  excite  her, 
nodded  my  head  and  winked  my  eyes  in  the  same  way  I  saw  her 
doing.  This  seemed  to  satisfy  her,  and  she  continued  more  viva- 
ciously. 

"  Tell  the  young  gentlemon  it  was  na  my  fau't — I  could  na' 
help  it,'  said  she,  sitting  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed ;  and 
hugging  her  knees  between  her  arms  and  clasped  hands,  she 
commenced  rocking  to  and  fro.     "  Nay,  nay!  I  could  not  help  it. 


MRS.  griscom's  legacy.  223 

She's  a  wierdsoiiie  body,  the  Holy  Leddy  and  I  maun  do  it.' 

'  The  Holy  Leddy  is  a  ghost,'  said  I,  '  she  is  dead  and  you 
need  not  fear  her.' 

'  Yes,  she's  dead,'  said  she,  misunderstanding  my  words  ;  'she 
died,  two  nights  agane.  I  heard  her  calling  him — Richard  ! 
Richard !  but  she's  still  enough  the  day !  said  she,  chuckling  a 
terrible  note,  '  I  hearkened  for  mony  an  hour — but  she's  quite 
gone.  I  can  sleep  now — tell  the  young  gentlemon  its  na  my 
fau't.' 

"  '  Richard  !'  exclaimed  I, '  Richard  Thom  V  the  name  sprang 
to  my  lips  like  an  inspiration. 

"Aye  aye;  Richard  Thorn,  a  fair  spoken,  handsome  youth. 
He'd  nae  forget  old  granny — no,  no ;  he'll  remember  the  auld 
woman,  when  the  young"Lassie's  gane.  But  she's  aweakane;" 
said  she,  shaking  her  head,  "  a  weak  ane  for  a'  her  blue  een,  an' 
lang  curling  locks.  See  !"  she  said,  and  plucked  out  of  her  bosom 
along  silken  curl  of  pale  golden  hue. 

"My  God!"  said  I,  finding  my  suspicions  realized,  "  Amie 
Hunt !" 

"  Aye,  Aye  !  Amie — Amie  !  He'll  fill  auld  granny's  box  for 
g'ie  o'  that.  See,  it's  empty  noo  !'  said  she  drawing  a  snuffbox 
from  a  great  pocket  which  she  wore  tied  outside  her  gown. 

'•  I  will  fill  it,"  said  I,  anxious  to  get  the  box  in  my  possession, 
for  it  struck  me  as  being  one  of  too  rare  workmanship  to  be  in 
such  hands.  While  filling  it  from  my  own,  I  examined  it  closely, 
and  was  not  greatly  surprised  to  discover  faintly  defined  upon 
the  greased  and  smoothly  worn  cover,  Squire  Thorn's  family 
crest ;  raising  the  lid  I  read  upon  the  inner  side,  the  engraved 
name  of  Lennox  Thorn,  Colonel  Thorn's  father. 

"  That  is  the  old  gentleman's  name,"  said  I,  pointing  to  the 
signature,  "  did  he  give  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Aye,  aye,  an  auld  gentilmon,"  said  she  chuckling,  "  wi' 
.  locks  black  as  the  raven,  an'  wi'  hands  white  like  yours  my 
Leddy,  though  the  scaur  on  his  braw  face  is  na  to  my  mind — but 
the  young  thing  ne'er  minds  it — they  ne'er  do — they  ne'er  do  !" 
she  muttered,  swaying  her  body  to  and  fro,  and  repeating  the 
words  again  and  again  to  herself. 

3 


224  THE    HESPERIAN. 


A  scar  !  I  had  heard  of  one  !  you  have  seen  it  Gertrude — 
time  has  not  effaced  it,  the  falling  locks  of  dark  hair  do  not  quite 
cover  the  disfigurement." 

Gertrude  bowed  her  head  as  if  indifferent  to  any  inference 
that  might  be  drawn  from  the  fact — Mrs.  Griscom  continued. 

"  I  felt  that  the  old  woman  possessed  a  secret  that  I  must 
know  at  all  hazards,  everything  depended  upon  my  wariness,  the 
lock  would  spring  and  close  for  ever  over  the  mystery,  if  I 
betrayed  any  interest  or  agitation,  so  with  well  feigned  uncon- 
cern I  inquired,  '  How  did  you  lose  the  keys  Granny  V  " 

"  I  canna  tell — I  canna  tell,  I  dinna  ken,  they'r  gane — whist !" 
she  exclaimed  with  a  sudden  gleam  of  intelligence,  "I  hae  seen 
her — the  white  Leddy !  she  frighted  me  on  the  stairs — but  that's 
nae  the  reason  I've  nae  been  nigh  the  young  lassie.  Nay,  nay, 
dinna  let  him  harm  the  old  woman — the  lassie's  nae  hungered 
wi'  a'  the  bread  I  gie  her  last.  The  Holy  Leddy  drove  me  frae 
the  door  an'  I  didna'  find  the  keys,  she  canna  be  hungry  !" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  exclaimed  I,  in  my  excitement  taking 
hold  of  her  shoulders,  "is  there  any  person  up  stairs  whom  you 
have  locked  in  and  left  to  starve  ?" 

I  did  not  intend  to  alarm  the  old  creature,  but  I  did  so,  and 
she  fell  against  her  bed  in  convulsions ;  my  servants  did  all  they 
could  to  restore  her,  but  she  merely  revived  to  fall  from  one  fit 
into  another,  and  before  help  could  arrive  she  was  dead.  The 
shock  I  had  already  sustained  in  threading  her  broken  sentences, 
which  had  revealed  to  me  the  terrible  mistake  I  had  been  under 
in  regard  to  my  husband,  and  the  dreadful  suspicions  which  her 
words  had  awakened,  that  some  one,  I  dared  not  think  who,  was 
locked  in  one  of  those  upper  chambers,  and  starving  slowly  to 
death,  made  me  almost  oblivious  to  the  sudden  end  of  the  aged 
woman.  In  fact,  so  fully  was  I  determined  to  find  the  keys,  and 
so  desirous  to  keep  the  servants  ignorant  of  my  surmise,  that  I 
was  almost  as  bewildered  as  she  had  been,  and  was  only  vaguely 
aware  of  what  had  happened.  At  length  I  found  the  object  of 
my  search,  wrapped  up  in  a  parcel  of  old  rags  and  tucked  away 
in  a  corner  behind  the  bed  ;  she  had  evidently  hid  them  there 
from  fear  of  the  Holy  woman,  who  was  said  to  haunt  the  west 


MES.  geiscom's  legacy.  225 

end  of  the  Manor.  Possessed  of  the  keys,  and  unaccompanied  by 
my  servant,  I  sought  the  opposite  side  of  the  building  and  exam- 
ined all  the  suites  of  rooms  up  and  down — but  in  vain.  I  pre- 
sume that  I  must  have  partly  -misunderstood  her  statement,  or 
that  the  bewildered  state  of  her  mind  led  her  to  confuse  the 
present,  with  past  events. 

That  Amie  Hunt  had  resided  there  at  some  time,  under  the 
care  of  this  crazy  beldame,  I  do  not  doubt.  I  found  some  of  the 
rooms  furnished ;  and  beside,  one  proof,  the  sole  but  sufficient 
evidence  obtained  by  my  search,  to  clear  my  husband's  memory 
from  a  hateful  stain,  and  to  point  out  the  offender.  That  proof  I 
have  here,"  said  she,  rising  and  unlocking  a  secret  drawer 
imbedded  in  the  great  heavy  chair  she  occupied,  "  It  has  been 
buried  there  for  twenty  years"  said  she  solemnly,  "  and  for 
twenty  years  I  have  tried  to  forget  it,  and  to  pardon  the  man, 
whose  iniquity  I  mistakenly  visited  upon  my  husband.  If  Colonel 
Thorn  had  not  asked  from  me  the  hand  of  my  niece  in  marriage, 
I  should  not  have  brought  it  up  against  him." 

"  He  mentioned,  aunt,  the  fact  of  your  producing  it  against 
him  at  the  time  you  dismissed  his  suit,  and  I  assure  you  he  did 
not  seem  to  think  it  a  very  serious  charge,"  said  Gertrude  taking 
the  token  from  Mrs.  Griscom's  hand — it  was  an  old  song  book, 
carefully  kept, — in  the  blank  index  page  was  written,  evidently 
in  a  girl's  unformed  hand  : 

"  Amie  Hunt,  her  book,  the  gift  of  Kichard  Thorn  ;"  below,  in 
the  same  hand,  was  transcribed  a  love  verse,  the  orthography  of 
which  was  incorrect,  and  the  whole  betrayed  the  hand  of  an 
uneducated  person. 

"  Well  aunt,"  said  Gertrude,  after  surveying  it  curiously,  but 
with  composure,  "  what  does  it  prove  ?  you  surely  will  not  assert 
that  is  Colonel  Thorn's  chirography  !" 

Mrs.  Griscom  closed  the  book  with  a  trembling  hand  and 
silently  restored  it  to  its  repository.  Eeseating  herself,  she  spoke 
in  a  touching  discouraged  tone,  "my  child  I  cannot  hope  to  con- 
vince you,  but  I  believe  before  God,  that  Colonel  Kichard  Thorn 
had  the  keeping  of  Amie  Hunt,  and  knew  what  befel  her  after 
she  disappeared  from  her  father's  house  ;  that  he  secreted  her  in 


226  THE    HESPERIAN. 


the  old  manor,  and  that  this  hook,  his  gift  to  her,  found  in  one  of 
the  most  remote  and  secluded  rooms  of  the  building,  proves  that 
he  was  her  lover,  and  there  visited  her.  As  you  remark,  the 
proof  is  not  very  strong,  but  to  me,  God  has  revealed  the  truth, 
if  you  cannot  see  it.  I  regret  to  go  against  you,  Gertrude,  but  I 
have  to  answer  before  the  Almighty  for  my  charge  of  you,  and 
if  I  can  prevent  it,  Colonel  Thorn  shall  never  call  you  wife." 

"  Do  calm  yourself,  annt,"  said  Gertrude,  perceiving  Mrs. 
Griscom's  failing  voice  and  excited  look  ;  "let  us  not  recur  to 
the  subject  again,  for  a  week  at  least — though  my  determination 
must  remain  unaltered,  for  I  consider  myself  sufficiently  capable 
to  judge  in  the  matter,"  said  she,  somewhat  haughtily,  "  yet  I 
wish  to  acknowledge  my  appreciation  of  the  deep  interest  in  my 
welfare  that  prompts  you  to  take  the  position  you  do." 

"  But  Gertrude,"  said  her  aunt,  despairing  and  grieved,  and 
yet  with  a  hard  determination  of  purpose,  "  I  shall  consider  it 
my  duty  to  reconstruct  my  will,  so  that,  that  temptation,  shall 
be  removed,  and  Colonel  Thorn  may  then  think  it  desirable  to 
seek  a  more  eligible  heiress  as  his  bride." 

"  Do  so,  aunt,  I  conjure  you,  do  so;  your  memory  shall  never 
suffer  in  my  estimation  for  the  act.  I  shall  always  remember 
your  kindness  to  me,  and  only  wish  that  my  future  husband 
better  suited  your  desires,"  replied  Gertrude,  in  a  respectful, 
earnest  tone  ;  and  thus  ended  the  interview. 

Two  days  after  this  conversation,  the  full-orbed  moon  shone 
upon  the  youthful  Gertrude,  as  she  sat,  pale  and  depressed,  beside 
a  window  in  Mrs.  Griscom's  bed-chamber.  She  had  much  to 
disturb  her  equanimity  that  day.  Mr.  Knightly  had  offered  him- 
self, and  had  been  refused ;  and  though  she  could  not  but 
acknowledge  his  manly  nobleness  of  character,  yet  irritated  by 
her  aunt's  opposition  to  Colonel  Thorn,  she  had  received  his  suit 
with  coldness,  not  unmingled  with  disdain.  He  had  been  passing 
a  few  days  at  Mrs.  Griscom's  and  was  still  a  guest  at  her  house ; 
she  having  urged  him  to  remain  for  the  night,  as  she  felt  unusualy 
ill.  Gertrude  was  chagrined  at  her  aunt's  inconsiderate  conduct 
toward  herself,  yet  her  proud  spirit  was  grieved,  as  she  reflected 
on  the  pained  and  anxious  look,  the  generally  calm  countenance 


MES.  geiscom's  legacy.  227 

of  her  aunt,  had  worn  for  some  days  past.  The  tender  moonlight, 
falling  upon  her  upturned  face,  revealed  its  graceful  outlines,  and 
perchance  the  silvery  lustrousness  of  the  atmosphere  in -which  she 
sat,  added  a  fictitious  purity  and  nobleness  to  her  countenance, 
or  its  magnetic  rays  may  have  called  forth  her  latent  beauties — 
however  that  may  be,  Gerard  Knightly,  who,  in  the  shadow  of 
the  garden  vines,  watched  unseen  the  lady  at  the  casement, 
thought  the  face  wore  a  different  look  from  the  spirited,  imperious, 
intractable  aspect  it  had  borne  to  him  but  a  few  hours  since. 

He  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  thinking  how  like  an  angel  she 
looked,  and  longing  more  than  ever  for  power  to  win  her  love. 

But  beside  the  white  solemn  moonbeam  there  was  still  another 
presence  in  that  lofty  and  antique  chamber.  With  pure,  white, 
and  yet  more  solemn  luster,  it  lit  up  an  aged  face,  lying  motion- 
less upon  the  lace  edged  pillows,  of  the  beadstead,  standing  in 
august  majesty  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment. 

This  presence  was  Death. 

Gertrude  by  the  moonlit  casement,  silently  communing  with 
her  own  heart,  in  her  trance-like  quietude,  unconsciously 
acknowledged  his  awful  presence;  when  nearly  an  hour  had 
elapsed,  and  aroused  from  the  lethargy,  she  approached  the  bed- 
side, and  there  found  a  white,  rigid  face,  smiling  like  a  spirit  upon 
her,  and  saw  that  the  limbs  were  stretched  down  in  the  composed 
order  of  death,  the  shock  she  then  sustained,  proved  well  nigh 
fatal  to  her. 

Mrs.  Griscom  had  conscientiously  performed  her  duty  in 
making  a  new  will,  and  Gertrude  Congreve's  legacy,  was  merely 
Denwood  Manor,  with  three  hundred  pounds  a  year. 

Naturally  it  would  be  supposed  that  Mrs.  Griscom's  strong 
masculine  mind  was  far  removed  from  any  taint  of  superstition  ; 
but  a  certain  clause  in  her  will,  showed  that  she  was  not  free 
from  such  weakness. 

She  requested  that  her  body  should  not  be  interred  in  the 
family  vault  at  Holywell,  but  in  a  spot  she  designated,  lying 
between  the  manor  and  the  Abbey  grounds.  Here  a  monument 
was  to  be  raised  over  her  remains  ;  and  adjoining  it,  a  small  chapel 
was  to  be  erected  by  Gerard  Knightly,  the  clergyman,  in  accord- 


228  THE    HESPERIAN. 


ance  with  directions  given  him — which  directions  must  be  im- 
plicitly followed,  as  God  in  his  providence,  had  seen  fit  to  point 
out,  in  a  vision,  her  place  of  burial.  The  chapel  was  to  contain 
a  small  octagonal  chamber,  with  windows  overlooking  the  monu- 
ment on  one  side,  and  the  river  on  the  other.  It  was  to  be  fitted 
up  with  religious  books,  tokens  and  emblems,  and  to  be  called 
"  Gertrude's  Chamber."  The  whole  was  to  be  the  joint  prop- 
erty of  Gertrude  Congreve  and  Gerard  Knightly.  To  this  latter 
person  she  also  bequeathed  a  large  portion  of  her  estate,  with  the 
injunction  that  during  the  term  of  his  natural  life,  upon  each 
anniversary  of  her  death,  prayers  should  be  read  and  chaunts 
sung  in  the  chapel,  after  which,  alms  were  to  be  distributed 
among  the  poor  of  the  district.  She  closed  by  saying,  that  "  To 
God  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  are  opened — and  as  his  Almighty 
Wisdom  had  been  pleased  to  withdraw,  in  a  measure,  the  vail  of 
mystery  which  had  long  been  hidden  from  her  comprehension, 
to  His  Providence  she  submitted  all  further  revealments." 

Evidently  her  hope  was,  that  Gertrude  and  the  young  clergy- 
man, being  brought  together  in  the  solemnly  touching  memorial, 
would  eventually  be  brought  together  in  a  closer  union. 

If  Gertrude  Congreve  had,  heretofore,  merely  shown  herself 
a  lovely  and  wayward  girl,  the  period  now  rapidly  approached, 
which  proved  her  to  be  a  noble  and  heroic  woman. 

[To  be  continued.] 


Dignity  has  its  seat  in  the  soul.  It  is  that  self-subduing 
quality,  which  enables  us  to  stand  erect  amid  the  storms  of  pas- 
sion, to  triumph  over  our  private  enemies  by  the  consistency  of 
our  course,  to  live  in  the  constant  possession  of  our  own  self- 
respect,  feeling  this  to  be  more  important  to  our  happiness,  than 
any  external  triumph,  or  vain  applause,  from  those  who  cannot 
know  our  motives,  and  do  not  feel  or  understaud  our  sacrifices. 


Innocence  will  not  always  shelter  a  person  from  evil  report, 
but  the  constant  influence  of  its  principle,  will  enable  him  to 
rise  above  it. 


FLOWERS. 


BY  MRS.  E.  A.  SIMOHTON  PAGE. 


In  orient  climes  in  flowers  they  tell 

The  hopes  and  fears  that  in  fond  hearts  dwell, 

And  every  bud  and  leaf  is  set, 

To  enrich  love's  floral  alphabet. 

No  purer  language  the  heart  may  frame, 

Its  deepest  emotions  to  proclaim. 

But  to  me,  flowers  stand  as  a  visible  sign, 

Of  the  Father's  nearness  and  love  divine, 

They  cheer  the  heart,  and  oppress  the  sense, 

By  their  beauty's  mute  omnipotence, 

And  I  bless  each  hour  that  richly  dowers 

My  path  with  the  glory  and  light  of  flowers. 

Thanks  to  the  friendship  which  speaks  to-day, 

In  the  eloquent  hush  of  this  rare  bouquet, 

That  in  exquisite  grace  before  me  lies, 

Like  a  visible  message  from  Paradise. 

Rose-buds,  the  loveliest  under  the  sun, 

Ensyllabled  poems  every  one, — 

As  their  breath  inspires,  and  their  hues  entrance, 

How  they  mock  my  feeble  utterance  ! 

Rose-buds  that  captive  sun-beams  hold, 

Entangled  close  in  their  leaves  of  gold — 

Buds  red-blushing  as  if  to  hear 

The  bulbul's  praise  in  sweet  Cachmere, 

Or  fair  as  the  delicate  tint  may  be, 

On  a  shell  of  pearl  'neath  an  eastern  sea. 

Wherever  I  turn,  the  purple  bloom 

Of  the  heliotiope  sends  a  rich  perfume, 

Like  a  sister's  love,  or  a  mother's  prayer, 

That  follows  the  wanderer  everywhere. 

Verbsenas  of  scarlet  and  Tyrian  dyes, 

Vie  with  the  tints  of  sunset's  skies — 

Pinks  that  the  deepest  hues  enshrine, 

Whose  petals  seem  steeped  in  ruby  wine, 

Outlean  like  spiced  urns  which  hold, 

An  incense  meet  for  the  gods  of  old. 

Balms  of  lemon,  and  dearer  yet 

The  fragrance  of  delicate  mignonette — 


230  THE   HESPEEIAN. 


Odorous  myrtles  that  garner  up, 

A  wealth  of  sweets  in  each  snowy  cup, — 

Honeysuckles  with  nectared  lips, 

The  richest  chalice  where  wild  bee  sips, 

That  are  sweetest  where  storm  and  darkness  be, 

Like  souls  made  pure  by  adversity — 

All  these,  and  more,  by  their  bloom  express, 

Friendship's  endearing  thoughtfulness, 

And  I  bless  the  hour  that  so  richly  dowers, 

My  path  with  the  glory  and  light  of  flowers. 

As  the  air  by  their  breath  is  turned  to  balm, 

My  heart  keeps  singing  a  grateful  psalm  ; 

And  as  if  an  angel  leaned  beside, 

The  place  by  their  presence  is  sanctified. 

Beautiful  blossoms — stars  of  earth ! 

To  exquisite  joyance  their  bloom  gives  birth. 

In  their  mute  companionship  is  found, 

The  music  of  sight,  instead  of  sound, 

Many  a  holy  lesson  slips, 

Through  the  silentness  of  their  fragrant  lips; 

Many  an  anthem  and  many  a  prayer, 

Drifts  with  their  incense  into  the  air, 

And  though  no  accents  the  light  air  stir, 

The  soul  is  Nature's  interpreter. 

God's  pure  High-Priests  the  wide  world  o'er, 

They  utter  the  same  celestial  lore — 

They  glorify  His  footstool  dim, 

And,  through  their  beauty,  we  worship  Him. 


Look  not  mournfully  into  the  past.  It  comes  not  back 
again.  Wisely  improve  the  present.  It  is  thine.  Go  forth  to 
meet  the  shadowy  future  without  fear,  and  with  a  strong  heart. 


When  we  record  our  angry  feelings,  let  it  be  on  snow,  that 
the  first  beam  of  sunshine  may  obliterate  them  for  ever. 


If  falsehood  paralyzed  the  tongue,  what  a  death-like  silence 
would  pervade  society. 


SKETCHES  OF  MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  NEIGHBORS. 


AUNT    HITTY    HATHNEWS.' 


BY   MRS.    S.   M.    CLARKE. 


[Concluded  from  page  185.] 
Each  one  of  the  party  would  relate  something  that  had  come 
under   her  own  observation   or  experience ;    some   remarkable 
omen,  or  singular  dream,  or  wonderful  prediction  that  had  been 
fulfilled  to  the  very  letter. 

But  while  they  extolled  her  power  to  unravel  the  mysterious, 
they  condemned  her  for  exercising  it,  although  they  themselves 
were  the  active  agents  in  calling  it  forth,  and  it  was  bestowed 
upon  them  freely,  and  without  remuneration.  Even  thus  a  sor- 
did miser  grasps  eagerly  the  gold  that  a  hunted  thief  casts  by  the 
wayside,  and  joins  the  crowd  in  pursuit  and  imprecation. 

Such  treatment  of  Aunt  Hitty,  appears  not  only  ungenerous 
and  inconsistent,  but  unchristian,  and  exhibits  the  weakness  of 
the  Neighbors  in  a  strong  light.  Yet,  they  did  not  intend  to  be 
unjust  toward  her  ;  if  that  can  be  received  as  a  palliation.  But 
they  did  not  pause,  in  their  routine  of  daily  life,  to  review  their 
acts  and  observe  if  they  were  in  harmony  with  their  Christian 
profession. 

But  self-examination  is  not  universally  practiced,  even  in  our 
own  day.  Few,  comparatively,  look  back  upon  their  course  of 
action  to  see  if  it  has  always  been  consistent  with  their  professed 
principles.  Indeed,  we  are  all  so  much  and  so  agreeably  occu- 
pied in  taking  observation  of  others,  noting  their  failings,  and 
the  often  discrepancy  between  their  profession  and  practice,  that 
we  have  but  little  leisure,  or  inclination  to  attend  to  our  own 
short-comings.  And,  if  we  chance  to  see  faults  in  ourselves,  we 
are  so  lenient,  so  very  charitable  toward  them,  and  find  so  many 
good  excuses  for  having  indulged,  and  for  continuing  to  indulge 
in  them,  that  there  is  little  hope  of  improvement.     Ah!  self-love 

*  The  reader  will  observe  that  the   name  of  our  revered  friend,   AUNT  HlTTT,  was  inadver- 
tent printed  KITTY,  in  the  preceding  chapters  of  this  sketch. 


232  THE    HESPERIAN. 


is  a  wonderful  perverter  of  judgment  in  feeble  natures ;  only 
strong,  noble  souls  can  bare  themselves  to  the  clear  light  of  truth, 
dissect  their  own  hearts  to  discover  the  hidden,  complicated 
springs  of  action,  and  "if  a  right  arm  offend,  cut  it  off;  or  a  right 
eye,  pluck  it  out  and  cast  it  from  them." 

But  there  was  one  among  my  Grandmother's  Neighbors, 
if  we  may  credit  tradition,  who  never  resorted  to  Aunt  Hitty  to 
gratify  her  love  of  the  marvellous,  or  to  listen  to  her  oft  repeated 
inquiries  !  "  Have  you  seen  any  lights  ?  heard  any  noises  ?  had 
any  dreams  latterly  ?"  The  lady  had  conscientious  scruples 
about  doing  so,  and  obeyed  them ;  which  was  certainly  honest 
and  consistent,  even  if  it  were  unneighborly.  She  was  a  daughter 
of  the  Puritans,  and  had  been  strictly  educated  in  their  faith 
among  an  aristocratic  circle  of  relatives  in  the  distant  city  of 
B — ,  and  she  regarded  it  as  the  rankest  heresy  to  family  and  re- 
ligion to  recognize  any  one  of  Aunt  Hitty's  supposed  proclivities. 

This  lady  went  to  E —  for  a  residence,  "  in  her  teens,"  they 
said,  the  beautiful  and  accomplished  bride  of  Captain  Croley — a 
dashing  young  sea  captain  in  the  India  trade — a  stranger  to  all, 
saving  the  one  for  whom  she  had  forsaken  all.  The  Neighbors  in 
speaking  of  her,  said  that  "  she  was  wealthy,  haughty  and  re- 
ligious, and  walked  the  earth  with  the  air  of  a  crowned  queen, 
spurning  the  sod  with  her  dainty  little  foot  as  if  it  were  a  menial, 
with  her  head  elevated,  and  her  lips  curled  to  the  flash  of  her 
dark,  commanding  eyes." 

One  morning  in  the  early  summer-time,  after  Mrs.  Croley  had 
been  a  resident  of  E —  a  few  years,  while  she  was  passing  Aunt 
Hitty's  rickety  wicket,  that  was  creaking  in  the  wind,  and  the 
parrot  was  calling  in  its  sharp,  cracked  voice  ; — "  Aunt  Hitty  at 
home,  walk  in !" — and  innumerable  cats  were  looking  down  upon 
her  with  their  luminous  eyes,  she  was  suddenly  accosted  by 
Aunt  Hitty  herself,  drawn  up  to  her  grandest  proportions,  and 
obliged  to  listen  to  the  following  startling  prediction  : — 

"  Thy  haughty  and  high  look  shall  be  brought  low  !  the 
destroyer  shall  enter  thy  habitation  and  lay  waste  thy  pleasant 
places !  the  tender  babes  of  thy  bosom  shall  perish  when  thou 
art  not  near  to  succor !  the  husband  of  thy  youth  shall  die  of 


MY   GRANDMOTHER'S   NEIGHBORS. 


23; 


wasting  hunger  upon  the  desolating  seas  !  thou,  even  thou,  shall 
go  down  to  thy  grave  before  the  evening  of  thy  days,  and  thy 
wealth  shall  be  given  to  another."     And  it  was  so. 

The  Neighbors  believed  that  Mrs.  Croley  provoked  the  ter- 
rible prophecy  by  her  haughty  bearing  toward  Aunt  Hitty,  and 
the  indifference  and  apparent  contempt  with  which  she  uniformly 
treated  her  friendly  recognitions.  But  they  misjudged  Aunt 
Hitty.  She  was  not  at  all  vindictive  in  her  feelings  ;  quite  the 
contrary;  her  nature  was  generous  and  forgiving,  Her  predic- 
tions of  evil,  regarding  an}7  neighbor,  were  made  from  a  strong 
conviction  of  the  truth  of  what  she  uttered  urging  her  on,  and 
often  from  a  deep  sense  of  duty  toward  the  parties  who  were  the 
subjects  of  them.  And  these  predictions  were  not  always  thrown 
off  from  her  seething  brain  in  moments  of  mental  exaltation,  like 
a  sudden  inspiration  ;  but  they  were  often  the  result  of  close 
observation  of  passing  events  in  the  neighborhood,  and  of  char- 
acter developed  in  connexion  with  them. 

Aunt  Hitty  possessed  a  reasoning  mind  of  the  highest  natural 
order.  It  had  not  been  nurtured  by  the  theories  of  speculative 
metaphysicians ;  for,  as  before  said,  she  was  not  learned  in  the 
philosophy  of  the  schools.  Its  action  was  purely  intuitive.  As 
a  consequent  of  this  peculiarity  of  mind,  she  had  an  aptitude  for 
observing  cause  and  effect,  not  only  in  its  manifestation  in  mate- 
rial nature,  but  in  the  more  intricate  unfoldings  of  the  intellec- 
tual and  spiritual.  And  where  the  Neighbors  generally  saw  but 
an  isolated  event,  she  observed  it  in  its  relations  to  the  cause, 
and  to  other  similar  events  ;  and  thus  from  a  knowledge  of  the 
laws  of  development  in  the  past,  she  would  predict  future  results 
or  events  with  a  precision  of  detail  that  appeared  like  sorcery  to 
less  gifted  natures. 

Aunt  Hitty  had  observed  that  persons  uniformly  enjoy  and 
also  suffer  most  through  the  medium  of  their  most  prominent 
traits  of  character,  their  governing  passions,  affections,  ambitions 
and  tastes.  She  had  observed,  also,  that  the  tendency  of  any 
ruling  quality  in  an  individual,  is  to  over-indulgence;  and  that 
this  tendency  to  excess  serves  to  weaken  self-respect  and  unbal- 


THE    HESPERIAN, 


ance  the  character.     These  known  principles  of  mind  guided  her 
in  forming  her  estimate  of  the  future  of  the  Neighbors. 

The  far-seeing  mind  of  the  Statesman  who  foretells  the  future 
destiny  of  nations,  is  of  the  same  natural  order.  Glancing  back 
upon  the  historic  scroll  of  centuries,  and  observing  that  all  re- 
markable events  have  been  prefigured  by  types  that, 


"  Future  events  cast  there  shadows  before," 

He  notes  the  thickly  crowding  shadows  of  coming  events  that 
loom  above  the  moral  horizon  of  his  age,  their  lines  of  direction 
and  proximity,  and  sends  his  luminous  mind,  strong  in  its  faith 
in  the  immutability  of  law,  far  forward  into  the  unknown  and 
mysterious  future  to  grasp  the  antitype,  and  return  with  the  full- 
ness of  revelation  to  mankind.  He  is  the  true  prophet,  the  phil- 
osopher— ay,  more — the  poet  of  the  world  !  Extant  in  time,  he 
lives  and  labors  for  eternity. 

It  may  appear  quite  preposterous,  to  some  persons,  to  claim 
for  aunt  Hitty  a  natural  alliance  to  such  as  he, — a  man  born  out 
of  due  time,  who  lifts  the  nations  by  the  attractive  power  of  his 
intellect,  up  to  a  higher  plane  of  thought  and  intelligence.  And 
yet,  there  is  less  distinction  between  the  humble,  undeveloped  seer 
of  some  remote  village,  and  the  world-renowned  sage,  than  we 
are  willing  to  believe.  The  disparity  in  conditions  and  education- 
al advantages,  will  account  for  the  difFerance.  The  diamond  re- 
quires the  rasp  and  the  polishing  brilliant  to  draw  out  its  radiant 
qualities ; — the  latent  powers  of  the  human  soul  can  only  be  de- 
veloped in  their  fullness  of  perfection  and  beauty  by  education 
and  association  with  enlightened  intellect.  But  we  are  all  too 
near  the  least,  and  the  greatest,  in  our  common  origin, — in  our 
general  dependance  and  necessities, — in  our  kindred  joys  and  sor- 
rows,— and  in  our  final  destiny,  to  feel  elated  by  our  superiority 
to  the  one  ;  or  humiliated,  by  our  inferiority  to  the  other. 

Poor  Aunt  Hitty  !  there  were  times  when  she  suffered  keenly 
from  the  sentiments  with  which  she  was  aware  that  she  inspired 
my  Grandmother's  Neighbors,  and  yearned  painfully  for  human 
love  and  companionship.  Yet  the  dark  hour  would  not  linger 
long ;  for  she  possessed  a  cheerful,  hopeful  spirit ;  was  one  of 


MY    GRANDMOTHER'S    NEIGHBORS.  235 


the  few  favored  kind  who  seem  superior  to  circumstances, 
being  sustained  under  the  pressure  of  sorrow  and  misfortune  by 
innate  nobleness,  and  the  approving  smile  of  Heaven.  Ah  !  the 
secret  of  their  cheerfulness  is : — "  They  keep  a  conscience  void 
of  offence  toward  God  and  toward  man."  They  follow  the  golden 
rule.  They  pray  often  ;  and  the  loving  angels  are  their  unseen 
companions.  If  their  spirit  vision  were  open,  they  would  never 
feel  lonely. 

Aunt  Hitty  rarely  visited  the  Neighbors,  but  all  found  a 
cordial  welcome  at  her  cottage.  She  felt  that  she  could  afford 
to  be  generous,  lavish,  even,  of  hospitality  there,  for  she  was 
queen  in  her  own  domain  and  lost  no  self-respect  by  confering 
favors.  And  there  she  measured  the  Neighbors,  and  observed 
their  distant  futures  from  a  mental  altitude  of  which  they  could 
form  no  conception. 

But  toward  the  evening  of  Aunt  Hitty's  life,  there  came  to 
the  little  village  of  E — ,  a  beautiful  young  lady,  the  niece  of 
Mrs.  Croley,  who  was  the  subject  of  the  prediction  already  re- 
corded. She  was  one  of  that  admirably  constituted  class  of 
individuals  who  perceive,  intuitively,  from  a  deep  humanitary 
love,  the  characters  and  conditions  of  those  with  whom  they  are 
thrown  in  contact,  and  desire  to  do  them  all  the  good  in  their 
power.  She  was  intellectual,  earnest,  generous  and  affectionate, 
and  her  affluent  soul  flowed  forth  as  freely  to  others  as  the  air 
and  light,  as  all  the  genial  influences  of  Nature.  Being  clear- 
sighted and  free  from  prejudice,  she  comprehended  Aunt  Hitty 
at  once,  the  wonderful  possibilities  of  her  nature,  what  she  might 
have  been  under  more  favorable  circumstances,  and  gave  her 
that  sympathy  and  affection  for  which  she  had  yearned  so  long. 
The  great  cry  of  her  heart  was  answered.  She  came  to  Aunt 
Hitty  in  her  beauty  and  brightness,  like  a  sunburst  from  a  stormy 
sky,  lendiug  light  and  joy  to  existence. 

It  was  a  matter  of  wonder  and  delight  to  Aunt  Hitty  to  find 
a  sympathetic  companion  in  so  youthful  a  person ;  one  who  could 
understand  and  take  an  interest  in  the  subjects  of  thought  that 
occupied  her  mind,  and  even  advance  new  and  striking  ideas 
upon  them  ;  and  who  was  able  from  her  superior  education  and 


236  THE   HESPERIAN. 


knowledge  of  language,  to  give  back  her  own  thoughts  to  her  in 
a  more  concise  and  clearer  form  of  expression. 

On  one  occasion,  after  a  long  agreeable  conversation  with  the 
young  lady,  Aunt  Hitty  said  to  her:  "My  dear  friend,  I  must 
make  a  confession  :  Before  I  knew  you,  I  had  a  poor  opinion  of 
the  judgment  aud  wisdom  of  the  young.  I  had,  verily,  thought 
with  Elihu,  the  son  of  Barachel  the  Buzite,  that  '  days  should 
speak,  and  multitude  of  years  should  teach  wisdom :'  but  now  I 
perceive  that '  there  is  a  spirit  in  man  ;  and  the  inspiration  of  the 
Almighty  giveth  them  understanding.'  " 

Aunt  Hitty  felt  that  she  was  compensated  in  this  new,  sweet 
friendship,  for  all  her  past  loneliness,  and  thanked  Heaven  for  the 
blessing.  But  the  Neighbors  viewed  with  surprise  and  wonder, 
the  intimacy  between  the  beautiful  young  lady  and  one  whom 
they  had  ostracized  socially,  on  account  of  her  supposed  "  league 
with  the  enemy  of  souls."  And  some  of  the  more  scrupulous 
and  timid  among  them,  "  really  feared  that  Aunt  Hitty  had  made 
use  of  some  unrighteous  fascination,  some  wile  of  the  Devil,  to 
entrap  the  innocent  young  creature  unawares." 

This  state  of  feeling  was  very  weak  and  absurd  in  the  Neigh- 
bors, certainly ;  but  it  was  their  misfortune  as  well  as  Aunt 
Hitty's,  that  they  misjudged,  and  did  not  render  her  the  appre- 
ciation she  merited.  Yet,  how  few,  comparatively,  of  any  age, 
have  been  justly  estimated  by  their  contemporaries,  for — as  a 
cynical  friend  of  the  long  ago  was  in  the  habit  of  saying  with 
unction,  as  an  addendum  to  his  broad  generalizations — "  Human 
nature  is  the  same  all  over  the  world."  Even  we  of  the  enlight- 
ened nineteenth  century,  often  allow  our  prejudices  to  pervert 
our  judgment.  We  are  too  prone  to  accredit  others  with  the 
baser,  rather  than  the  better  motive.  Few,  even  among  the 
most  religious  and  charitable,  consider  it  a  moral  obligation  to 
observe  their  neighbors  with  the  view  of  learning  their  virtues 
as  well  as  failings.  If  this  were  to  become  the  general  practice, 
"  poor  human  nature"  would  not  be  accredited  with  so  much 
evil ;  and  we  should  offcener  discover  more  of  the  Divine  in  the 
human.  Human  nature  is,  after  all,  like  a  chameleon  ;  its  color 
depends  upon  the  light  in  which  it  is  viewed ;  and  it  changes 


MY   GRANDMOTHER'S  NEIGHBORS.  237 

under  the  eye  of  the  observer  to  the  hue  reflected  from  himself. 

And  now,  kind  friend,  Aunt  Hitty  is  before  you  with  her  gen- 
erous dimensious  of  form,  heart,  and  brain ; — with  her  strong 
social  nature,  checked  by  an  unsympathizing  community  in  its 
natural  flow  toward  her  fellow  beings,  manifesting  itself  in  kind- 
ness and  affection  to  the  lower  orders  of  animals  ; — with  her 
capacious  intellect,  undeveloped  by  education,  groaning  in  em- 
bryo for  a  fuller,  larger  freedom  ; — with  her  sublime  spiritual 
nature,  that  an  enlightened  intellect  would  have  guided,  through 
the  mysteries  of  matter  and  of  mind,  up  to  the  source  of  light 
and  truth,  betrayed  by  ignorance  into  the  darkness  of  superstition. 

Aunt  Hitty  is  before  you,  and  you  can  judge  what  she  might 
have  been  under  more  favorable  circumstances,  could  her  great 
heart  and  mind  have  had  ample  space  and  verge  enough,  could 
her  noble  powers  have  found  occupation  and  development  in  an 
enlightened  community, 

Occupation  and  development — let  us  ponder  those  words 
for  they  contain  the  great  secret  of  human  happiness,  and  of  hu- 
man progress.  We  cannot  recall  the  past  and  restore  to  the 
world  the  wasted  wealth  of  intellect  and  heart,  that  might  have 
enriched  and  made  it  beautiful.  We  cannot  rekindle,-  on  earth, 
the  smothered  fires  of  souls  that  could  have  made  their  own  age 
luminous,  and  radiated  light  through  the  darkness  of  the  centu- 
ries ;  but  who  were  condemned,  by  Ignorance,  to  perish  ignobly 
in  their  own  flames.  But  all  who  have  reached  the  age  of  re- 
sponsibility, can  throw  the  weight  of  their  influence  into  the  right 
scale,  can  see  that  the  young  in  their  charge,  and  within  their 
influence,  have  occupation  and  development  suited  to  their  capacity 
and  years  ;  then  will  the  vast  sum  of  human  ignorance,  and  its 
consequent  misery,  be  lessened  in  another  generation. 

And  attractive  occupation,  occupation  in  harmony  with  nat- 
ural tastes  and  ambitions,  is  the  true  path  of  deve^ment.  It  is 
the  only  way  by  which  human  beings  can  reach  their  full  mental 
and  moral  status.  For,  whatever  kind  of  employment  one  takes 
delight  in,  that  will  draw  forth  the  best  physical  and  intellectual 
effort,  and  the  moral  faculties  will  catch  the  enlivening  tone,  and 


238  THE    HESPERIAN. 


act  in  concert,  and  if  there  be  latent  power  or  talent  in  the  indi- 
vidual, it  will  find  expression. 

Under  a  system  of  education  for  the  people,  based  upon  this 
idea,  the  mechanic  arts,  the  fine  arts,  commerce  and  the  profes- 
sions, would  receive  a  quickening  from  genius  such  as  the  world 
has  never  seen,  nor  even  dreamed  of  in  all  the  past.  New  and 
wonderful  births  of  intellect  would  be  the  result — inventions  in 
every  department  of  industry  to  improve  human  conditions,  to 
lift  the  weight  of  care  and  toil  from  the  shoulders  of  the  suffering, 
crouching  millions. 

Labor  is  degraded  and  degrading,  and  the  World  is  a  drudge, 
only  for  the  reason  that  the  people  are  forced,  through  a  false 
and  meagre  system  of  education,  into  distasteful  business  pursuits 
and  occupations,  that  dwarf,  instead  of  enlarging  their  powers. 

But,  thank  God  !  there  is  promise  in  the  future  for  the  great 
sorrowful  heart  of  humanity,  and  the  philanthropist  may  labor  in 
hope.  For  the  world  renews  its  youth  in  each  successive  gen- 
eration under  more  favorable  conditions  for  development  and  hap- 
piness. Each  new  generation  of  men  and  women  represent  a 
new  race,  which  has  all  the  wrongs  of  the  past  for  beacons  to 
guard  it  against  the  dangers  of  life's  way  ;  and  all  the  accumu- 
lated knowledge  and  wisdom  for  lights  to  guide. 

Each  generation,  treading  on  the  heel 
Of  generation,  sends  a  grander  peal 
From  the  great  March  of  Ages  moving  on, 
To  blend  the  interests  of  mankind  in  one. 

Aunt  Hitty's  cottage  and  grounds,  dear,  familiar  objects  to 
her,  have  fallen  into  the  possession  of  strangers.  They  were  sold 
after  her  decease,  in  accordance  with  her  will,  for  the  benefit  of 
the  village  poor.  A  moss-grown  slab  in  the  old  graveyard,  re- 
cords the  number  of  her  years,  and  the  hour  of  the  spirit's  depar- 
ture. But  it  tells  not  of  its  conflicts,  and  its  conquests,  in  its 
passage  to  immortality  ; — are  they  not  written  in  the  book  of  life 
beyond  to-morrow  ? 


PATTERNS. 


239 


CLARA    DRESS. 

The  style  of  this  dress  is  suitable  for 
misses  from  six  to  twelve  years.  The 
skirt  is  simply  cut  about  R  iuches  longer 
than  it  is  desirable  to  wear  it,  and  gathei-- 
ed  about  four  inches  from  the  bottom,  so 
as  to  form  a  puff  abour  four  inches  deep, 
and  separated  about  every  six  inches,  by 
velvet,  gimp  or  ruching,  according  to  the 
materials  made  up.  The  berthe  is  a 
straight  piece,  formed  in  the  same  man- 
ner. 


FRENCH  CHEMISE. 
Requires  three  and  one  half  yards  of  material 
The  sleeves  are  cut  on  the  body.  The  yoke  fits 
beautifully,  and  is  elaborately  worked,  as  also 
the  band,  about  six  inches  in  length,  down  the 
front.  This,  with  the  fine  tucks  at  each  side, 
forms  a  handsome  under-waist  for  a  fine 
stomacher  or  Zouave  shirt. 


BRAID  PATTERN  FOR  ZOUAVE  JACKET. 


BOY'S    PANTS. 


REMARKABLE    PROVIDENCE. 


In  the  days  of  the  Revolution,  lived  a  venerable  and  godly  minis- 
ter, of  the  Congregational  Church,  who  was  known  as  "Father 
Moody."  He  had  a  wonderfuf  gift  of  prayer,  and  was  in  many 
ways  a  remarkable  person.  From  youth  upward  he  had  been 
the  subject  of  very  true  spiritual  impressions  and  directions, 
which  he  always  obeyed  with  the  most  devout  earnestness  and 
alacrity.  He  was  never  known  to  make  the  least  question  of 
anything  which  he  was  commanded  to  do  ;  nor  was  he  ever  de- 
ceived or  misled  in  the  least.  So  far  as  we  can  judge  from  his 
own  account  of  the  matter,  it  would  seem  that  the  spiritual 
phenomena,  of  which  he  was  a  subject,  were  expressed  in  that 
form,  which  is  now  known,  as  the  Interior  Voice.  Re  this  as  it 
may,  he  was  addressed  in  intelligible  terms,  as  the  following  nar- 
rative will  show.  This  account  was  obtained  from  one  who  had  often 
heard  it  from  the  lips  of  the  venerable  hero  himself*  for,  when 
he  was  an  old  man,  he  loved  to  dwell  on  these  incidents  of  his 
spiritual  life,  thus  giving  himself  compensation  for  the  change  in 
external  forms,  as  the  shadows  of  age  settled  on  them,  and  they 
grew  dim  to  the  outward  eye.  His  residence  was  about  fifty 
miles  northeast  of  Boston,  and  at  the  time  about  to  be  noticed, 
the  country  was  quite  new  and  rough.  One  very  cold  morning 
he  rose  suddenly  from  the  breakfast  table,  saying,  "  I  must  go  to 
Boston  to-day  !"  "  Not  to-day,  my  dear;"  suggested  his  wife, 
"  Do  you  know  how  cold  it  is  ?  The  ground,  broken  by  the  late 
thaw,  has  frozen  again,  solid  as  a  rock,  and  'twill  be  very  rough 
traveling."  "  Besides,  it  is  a  bitter  day,  father,"  interposed  one 
of  the  daughters ;  "I  am  really  afraid  you  will  freeze  to  death." 
"  I  think  there  is  no  danger  of  that,"  he  answered.  "  The  Lord 
will  never  call  me  to  be  a  martyr  for  nothing.  He  has  told  me 
to  go,  and  he  will  carry  me  through  in  safety."  "But  what  are 
you  going  for?"  asked  his  wife.  "  I  cannot  tell,  I  am  sure.  I 
know  no  more  about  it  at  present,  than  you  do,"  he  replied. 
"But  certainly,"  she  ventured  to  suggest,  "you  could  not  be 
expected  to  take  such  a  step  without  some  positive  assurance 


REMARKABLE    PROVIDENCE.  243 

that  you  ought  to  do  so.  Is  there  not  a  point  where  madness 
seems  to  tread  very  closely  on  the  heels  of  devotion '?  It  is  well 
to  be  zealous,  but  not  blindly  enthusiastic,  or  fool-hardy."  She 
certainly  spoke  like  a  reasonable  woman,  and  much  after  the 
fashion  of  the  spirits  of  these  days  ;  but,  nevertheless,  her  speech 
availed  nothing  "  The  Lord  has  told  me  to  go"  was  the  answer, 
in  those  deep  and  solemn  tones,  which  awoke  in  the  listeners,  a 
sentiment,  corresponding  with  that  which  they  expressed.  The 
wife  said  no  more,  for  she  knew  it  was  in  vain  to  combat  any 
impression  of  the  kind ;  but  the  daughters  entreated  him  not  to 
go.  "  I  have  lived  almost  seventy  years,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  have 
never  once  hesitated,  when  the  Lord  has  commanded  me  to  arise 
and  obey  his  voice.  Let  my  children  be  assured  it  is  too  late  to 
begin  now."  Finding  it  of  no  use  to  contend,  they  sought  only 
to  make  him  comfortable,  as  the  circumstances  would  admit  of. 
His  outer  garments  were  well  warmed,  and  his  venerable  form 
sheltered  by  every  possible  means,  from  the  inclemency  of  the 
season,  of  which  that  day,  was  one  of  the  roughest  specimens. 
Under  these  circumstances,  the  aged  Seer — for  we  can  call  him 
nothing  else — set  off  on  horseback  to  take  a  ride  of  fifty  miles, 
on  a  short  wintry  day,  for  a  purpose,  and  a  work,  as  yet  unre- 
vealed.  A  feat  like  this,  would  make  one  of  our  modern  heroes, 
shrink  into  nothing  by  comparison  ;  and,  to  say  the  least,  it  was 
a  true  and  brave  one.  Father  Moody  lived  not  in  the  days^of 
railroads  and  steamboats,  nor  of  the  effeminacy  which  has  in  some 
way  crept  into  the  train,  and  pertinaciously  follows,  in  the  march 
of  Improvement.  His,  was  a  true  mind,  a  strong  heart,  and  a 
genuine  faith.  He  had  a  distinct  impression,  that  he  must  reach 
Boston  before  one  o'clock  at  night,  in  order  to  accomplish  the 
mysterious  purpose  for  which  he  had  been  sent  By  a  seeming 
ill-luck,  the  day  was  one  of  the  shortest  of  the  year ;  and  as  it 
wore  on,  he  could  not  repress  a  feeling  of  nervous  anxiety  in  re- 
gard to  his  arrival  at  the  proper  time.  So  strong  was  this  im- 
pression, that  he  never  left  the  saddle,  except  twice  for  a  few 
minutes,  in  order  to  bait  his  horse;  and  during  the  last  stop,  he 
took  a  small  bit,  which  he  had  carried  with  him  as  a  luncheon. 
Thus  imperfectly  rested,  warmed,  and  fed,  he  went  on  his  cold 
and  dreary  way,  gradually  yielding  to  a  feeling  of  despondency, 


244  THE    HESPERIAN. 


to  which  he  was  unaccustomed.  As  the  sun  dropped  behind  the 
cold,  gray  hills,  the  day  fading  into  night,  almost  as  suddenly,  as 
if  put  out  by  an  extinguisher,  this  feeling  increased  to  such  a 
degree  as  to  be  almost  intolerable.  In  this  state,  the  Devil,  as  he 
himself  expressed  it,  began  to  insinuate  into  his  mind,  doubts  and 
misgivings,  addressing  him  in  a  tone  of  familiarity,  which  seems 
like  a  reminisence  of  the  book  of  Job,  showing  that,  inasmuch  as 
"  the  leopard  changeth  not  his  spots,  nor  the  Ethiopian  his  skin," 
so  truly  Satan  may  always  be  known  by  his  cloven  foot.  "  Well, 
Father  Moody,"  said  he,  for  a  first  salutation,  "  what  are  you  out 
for,  this  cold  day  ?  It  must  be  something  very  important,  to  take  a 
man  at  your  time  of  life,  so  far  from  home  on  such  a  day  as  this." 
"Why,  as  to  that,"  replied  Father  Moody,  so  far  dropping  into  an 
nuconsciousness  of  the  personality  before  him,  as  to  indulge  in  a 
parley,  "  why,  as  to  that,  I  cannot  say  that  I  know  myself,  as 
yet,  very  distinctly."  "  You  must  be  doing  a  fair  business,  to 
say  the  least,"  responded  the  intruder,  with  a  sly  shrug.  "  There's 
no  accounting  for  tastes.  Some  folks  like  to  starve,  and  freeze, 
and  do  fifty  other  foolish  things,  for  conscience's  sake,  or  some 
other  kind  of  sham.  You've  had  a  pretty  hard  time,  to  say 
nothing  of  your  poor  horse.  Take  my  advice  ;  turn  right  about 
face,  and  go  back  to  the  tavern.  Get  into  comfortable  quarters 
for  the  night.  And  the  next  time  it  will  be  well  to  think  twice 
before  you  engage  in  any  such  Quixotic  expedition  as  the  present." 
There  was  a  degree  of  plausibility  in  this  speech  that  seemed  to 
silence,  for  a  time,  the  good  angel  of  the  worthy  Seer  ;  and  for  a 
little  while  he  became  quite  uncomfortable,  with  a  feeling  nearly 
akin  to  self-reproach. 

The  cunning  Adversary,  perceiving  his  advantage — which  he 
is  always  ready  to  do,  if  we  may  accept  the  report  of  those  who 
best  know  him — said,  rather  more  boldly,  "  Come,  now,  you  had 
better  bear  a  hand,  and  get  back  ;  for  if  you  expect  to  do  any 
good,  you  will  find  yourself  .greatly  mistaken,'" 

For  a  moment  the  thought  of  warm  quarters,  supper,  and  a 
bed,  were  almost  a  temptation.  Father  Moody,  though  a  hale 
and  strong  old  man,  was  not  a  Hercules.  He  felt  very  cold  and 
hungry.  His  teeth  chattered  at  the  contrast  between  his  momen- 
tary thought,  and  his  present  condition. 


REMARKABLE    PROVIDENCE.  24-5 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  the  other,  "  it  is  chilly,  to  be  sure.  As  for 
me,  I  can't  stand  it ;  if  you  can,  it's  well  enough.  I  must  go 
somewhere  where  there  is  a  good  fire,  at  least." 

His  allusion,  and  the  peculiar  tone  in  which  it  was  spoken, 
effectually  opened  Father  Moody's  eyes.  He  was  "  himself  again." 
Rising  in  the  stirrups,  as  if  by  a  proper  dignity  and  advantage  of 
position,  he  might  over-awe  the  Arch  One,  he  spoke,  in  a  loud 
and  determined  voice  :  "  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  whispered  the  Enemy, 
well  feigning  an  expression  of  anxiety  and  friendly  concern. 

"  Get  thee  behind  me  Satan !"  responded  the  Seer,  in  a  still 
more  energetic  tone,  checking  his  horse  at  the  instant,  and  stand- 
ing quite  erect ;  and  then,  as  the  modern  psychologists  say,  he 
became  "  positive." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  his  voice  dropping  into  a  serene  and  quiet 
tone;  " the  Lord  has  never  deceived  me.  He  will  not  mislead 
me  now.  I  will  go  forward.  He  will  lead  the  way,  and  in  his 
own  good  time  I  shall  behold  his  salvation." 

Just  as  he  entered  Boston,  the  town  clock  struck  twelve. 
The  streets  were  still  dark.  There  were  no  gas-lights  then,  and 
what  few  rogues  they  had,  got  along  quite  as  well  without  them. 
As  to  honest  people,  they  were  in  bed,  and  fast  asleep  by  ten 
o'clock ;  so  they  did  not  need  any  artificial  illuminations.  Never- 
theless, it  was  a  dark,  cold,  and  comfortless  mission,  on  which 
Father  Moody  had  entered  so  trustingly ;  but  after  he  heard  the 
clock  strike  twelve,  a  fever  of  anxiety  took  possession  of  him, 
and  he  grew  wanner.  Undismayed  by  the  discouraging  prospect 
before  him,  he  toiled  on,  riding  up  street  and  down  street, 
amid  intricate  squares,  and  through  narrow  passages ;  but  all 
was  dark  and  still.  Even  the  watchmen  seemed  to  be  fast 
asleep,  which  was  quite  a  wonder  in  those  honest  days,  when 
people  sought  to  earn  their  money  before  they  took  it.  Now, 
the  case  is  quite  different  ;  for,  to  judge  by  appearances,  the 
watchmen  are  the  only  sleepy  characters  in  the  whole  city. 

"  But  one  hour — less  than  an  hour,"  thought  Father  Moody  ; 
"  shall  I  be  too  late  ?  Will  the  Lord  deceive  his  servant  ?"  In 
spite  of  his  faith,  a  momentary  feeling  of  doubt  crept  over  him. 
The  necessity  of  rest  and  refreshment  once  more  came  up  to  be 


246  THE    HESPERIAN. 


considered  ;  and  in  his  figurative  belief  and  language,  the  Devil 
beset  him  at  every  corner,  crossing  his  path,  and  continually 
troubling  him  with  pertinent  questions  ;  but  he  was  so  resolutely 
repulsed,  that  at  length  he  drew  off  his  forces,  and  thus  fairly 
gave  up  the  contest. 

Suddenly  a  light  glimmered  in  the  distance.  It  was  from  a 
chamber  in  the  fourth  story  of  a  house,  in  a  neighboring  street. 
As  soon  as  Father  Moody  laid  eyes  on  it,  he  knew  his  mission 
was  to  that  house;  and  quickening  his  speed,  he  turned  the  cor- 
ner, and  directly  came  up  to  it.  Seeking  a  sheltered  position  for 
his  poor  jaded  horse,  he  dismounted,  and  having  carefully  fast- 
ened him  to  a  post,  he  advanced  to  the  door,  where,  after  some 
little  time,  finding  the  knocker,  he  gave  a  rap,  that  had  will  and 
meaning  in  it,  to  which  responded  the  waking  echoes  of  the  silent 
street.  Very  soon  he  saw  the  light,  which  was  still  in  view,  de- 
scend from  story  to  story,  until  it  appeared  in  the  hall.  Presently 
the  door  opened,  and  a  man  appeared,  whose  pale  and  haggard 
countenance,  exhibited,  at  a  single  glance,  the  most  terrible  war 
of  passions. 

"  What  have  you  come  for?"  he  demanded  in  an  angry  tone 
of  voice.  "  Why  are  you  here  ?"  "  I  know  not,"  replied  Father 
Moody,  "but  the  Lord  has  sent  me." 

There  was  something  truly  sublime  in  the  majestic  appear- 
ance, as  well  as  the  prophet-like  character,  and  mysterious  posi- 
tion of  the  Seer,  which  at  once  arrested  attention,  and  commanded 
respect. 

For  a  moment  the  stranger  seemed  struggling  to  resist  the 
influence ;  and  then  he  quaked  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  a  univer- 
sal ague  had  seized  him. 

In  a  voice  so  tremulous  with  emotion,  it  seemed  well-nigh 
sobbing,  he  said,  at  length,  "  Follow  me,  and  behold  what  you 
were  sent  for." 

Thus  saying,  he  led  the  way  to  the  room  he  had  just  left,  and, 
pointing  to  a  rope  which  was  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  he 
added,  "there  it  is,"  and  then  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  he  had  felt 
the  cord  tightening  round  his  throat.  After  a  few  moments  he 
continued,  "  Had  you  been  ten  minutes — yes,  five  minutes  later, 
I  should  have  been  in  eternity  at  this  moment !" 


EEMAKKABLE    PROVIDENCE.  247 

"Look  there  !"  he  resumed,  turning  to  a  table  where  lay  a 
parcel  of  papers,  neatly  filed.  "  The  tying  of  that  knot  was  the 
last  preparation.  It  was  tied,  and  my  hand  was  already  on  the 
fatal  noose." 

He  then  seated  his  guest,  and  gave  some  account  of  the  cir- 
cumstances which  led  nearly  to  the  consummating  of  so  rash  and 
wicked  an  act.  He  had  been  what  is  commonly  called  a  wild, 
or  rattle-headed  young  man,  though  not  precisely  what  is  known 
as  dissipated.  His  habits,  however,  were  such  as  to  mar  his 
business  relations.  He  struggled  on  for  some  time,  but  being 
naturally  of  a  gloomy  temper,  his  continued  disappointments 
yielded  at  length  to  a  heart-sickness,  which  he  imagined  was  at 
once  without  parallel,  and  without  remedy.  In  short,  he  had 
conceived  an  utter  disgust  of  life,  and  had  determined  to  die. 

"My  son,"  said  Father  Moody,  rising,  and  laying  a  hand  on 
his  head  in  that  impressive  manner  for  which  he  was  so  distin- 
guished, "  By  the  good  providence  of  God  you  have  been  snatched 
from  perdition,  this  very  hour.     Are  you  willing  to  be  saved  ?" 

A  deep  groan,  that  seemed  to  rend  the  heart  it  came  from,  was 
the  only  answer.  Father  Moody  was  tall  and  commanding  in 
appearance,  and  he  spoke  with  an  air  of  authority,  corresponding 
well  with  a  fine  consciousness  of  his  prophetic  character,  and 
mission.  Laying  a  hand  on  each  shoulder  of  the  youth,  he  said, 
"  Let  us  pray." 

The  young  man's  knees  bent  like  osiers  in  a  strong  wind,  and 
kneeling  by  his  side,  Father  Moody  opened  that  wonderful  power 
of  utterance,  which  was  without  a  peer.  The  young  man  wept, 
sobbed,  and  shook  as  if  smitten  by  convulsions.  The  conflict 
was  terrible — but  he  arose  in    a  calm  and  passive  state. 

He  forsook  his  old  companions,  and  engaged  in  useful  busi- 
ness, in  which  he  learned  to  bear  occasional  disappointment,  as  a 
necessary  discipline.  Not  long  after,  he  joined  the  Old  South 
Church,  of  which  he  was  for  more  than  forty  years,  a  most  active 
and  useful  member,  seeking  every  opportunity  to  do  good,  and 
never  forgetting  the  wise  counsels  of  the  venerable  Seer,  who 
had  been  so  truly  led  to  achieve  his  redemption. 


LIFE 


BY  REV.  J.  D.  STRONG. 


I. 

Dreams !    Dreams ! 
With  thoughts  as  free 

As  the  flying  winds 
On  the  chainless  sea  ; 
"With  draughts  of  life 

From  the  flashing  deeps, 
Beneath  whose  waves 

Heart- treasure  sleeps ! 

II. 

Fled!    Fled! 

Those  blisfiful  dreams, 
Like  the  ripple  waves 

On  the  flowing  streams ; 

And  no  trace  left, 
But  such  as  show 

The  wasting  lives 
Of  a  living  wo  ! 

III. 

Dark!  Dark! 

As  the  scowling  sky, 
When  cloudy  billows 

Across  it  fly, 

And  lurid  gleams 

From  the  folded  gloom, 

Flash  out  to  the  heart 

Its  time-wrought  doom ! 

IV. 

Hope !  Hope  ! 
From  these  spirit  pains, 

When  the  prisoned  heart 
Shall  burst  its  chains, 
And  dream  no  more, 

But  in  fields  above 
Shall  live  all  its  dreams 

In  Eternal  Love ! 


UtttttUtJJ    0f   $u$\xx&\x. 


BONNETS. 
The  shape,  much  the  same  as  last  Season,  designated  "  sis  storeys,"  pro- 
jecting fronts,  with  huge  bunches  of  flowers,  both  outside  and  in.     Chip, 
Leghorn,  and  Straw,  much  in  vogue. 

MANTLES. 
Much  smaller  than  last  season.     Small  Shawls,  with  deep  Lace,   much 
worn.     For  Morning  promenade,  short  Paletots — same  Material  as  Dress. 

BODIES. 
Round  or  pointed  points, — the  pointed  are  considered  most  dressy.     For 
Evening  Dress,  two  points,  one  behind  and  before.     Square  or  open  bodies 
much  worn  accompanied  with  a  Chemisette  of  Muslin  or  Silk. 

SLEEVES. 
Made  of  thick  material — not  large,  open  either  on  the  back  or  front. 
Thin  sleeves, — large  and  full,  drawn  into  a  band  at  bottom, — large  enough 
for  the  liand  to  pass  through. 


As  some  of  our  friends  have  requested  us  to  give  Patterns  for  children's 
clothes,  we  will  endeavor,  now  and  then,  so  to  do. 

The  full-sized  Pattern  in  this  Number,  (see  design  on  p.  241),  is  that  of  a 
Boys  Pants — for  a  child  from  three  to  five  years  old.  Material  of  Cloth  or 
Merino,  and  Braided  in  any  pattern,  either  by  hand  or  sewiug  machine.  The 
front  and  back  each  made  with  two  plaits  on  the  plain  band.  The  pointed 
band  is  separate,  and  is  secured  around  the  waist,  with  hooks  and  eyes.  A 
bow,  with  long  ends,  braided  to  match,  is  fastened  over  the  ends  of  the  belt — 
thus  completing  a  most  tasteful  garment. 


We  have  adopted  a  custom,  never  before, — we  think,  introduced  into  an 
American  Magazine — that  of  giving  a  complete,  Life  Size  Cut,  of  the  full- 
sized  Pattern,  with  minute  instructions  how  to  put  it  together,  so  that  the 
most  uninitiated  cannot  make  mistakes.  This  we  shall  continue  to  do,  in 
every  Number,  which  will  be  of  invaluable  importance  to  our  Lady  friends 
We  shall  also  introduce  Embroidery  and  Crochet  Patterns. 


®&Uox'$  Vxlt*. 


SIGNS  OF  THE  TIMES. 

Nothing-  is  more  lamentably  true,  than  the  readiness,  with  which  women  ab- 
sent to  their  own  disfranchisement,  and  take  part  in  the  general  conspiracy 
against  themselves.  Two  very  admirable  and  efficient  women,  were  re- 
jected by  the  New  York  Committee  of  Ladies,  who  in  the  beginning  of  the 
war,  were  endowed  with  the  authority  to  examine  candidates,  and  appoint 
Nurses  for  the  army,  on  the  ground  of  possessing  too  much  refinement  and  in- 
tellectual culture.  This  certainly  was  a  poor  compliment  to  the  Ladies ; 
aud  yet  these  lady-officers  have  fallen  into  a  very  common  mistake. 

They  proceed  on  the  presumption,  that  a  woman  of  refinement  and  educa- 
tion, must  necessarily,  have  less  physical  power  and  pract'cal  ability,  than  one 
of  a  more  rudimental  type.  But  there  never  was  a  greater  error,  or  one 
fraught  with  more  evil  consequences.  If  things  were  rightly  adjusted — intel- 
lect, even  to  the  highest  degree  of  capacity  aud  culture — so  far  from  rendering 
women  less  efficient  as  housekeepers,  or  operatives  in  the  affairs  of  life,  would, 
other  things  being  equal,  add  to  her  power,  and  multiply  her  means,  both  of 
enjoyment  and  practical  usefulness.  And  if  she  fail  in  these,  it  is,  I  venture 
to  say,  not  so  much  because  she  is  intellectual,  or  learned,  as  for  the  want  of 
some  important  principle  of  propriety  and  order,  that  unhinges  her  capacity, 
and  disjoints  her  efforts.  Instead  of  joining  the  hue  and  cry  against  female 
pedants,  and  other  so-callecl  monstrosities  in  the  name  of  women,  let  us  simply 
set  ourselves  to  work  to  cultivate  all  the  faculties,  and  occupy  all  the  ground 
that  God  and  Nature  have  given  us.  The  great  political  crisis  now  pending, 
is  to  do  something  more  than  merely  to  define  sectional,  or  even  national 
boundaries.  It  is  to  develope  a  truer  Womanhood.  It  is  to  determine  the 
spiritual  power  and  character,  not  of  this  age  only,  but  of  all  the  future.  We 
as  women,  are  at  this  time  invested,  with  a  responsibility  for  which  we  will  be 
held  accountable,  and  yet  to  the  far-seeing  eye,  it  is  bright  and  gladdening. 

The  ages  have  long  been  shaping  the  world  for  us.  There  must  be — and 
if  you  look  closely,  you  will  see  that  there  is  already  beginning  to  be — a  com- 
plete reaction  in  the  position  of  Women.  So  far  as  she  has  been  oppressed 
and  crushed  down,  just  so  far  will  the  rising  scale  ascend  above  the  common 
level.  And  many  great  deeds  will  be  done,  in  the  Arts,  in  the  Sciences,  in 
the  saving  loves,  in  the  ennobling  heroisms  of  life,  before  the  final  equilibrium 
will  be  established. 

NOTICE. — Our  readers  are  aware,  that  when  we  took  the  Chair  Editorial,  the 
Hesperian,  owing  to  affliction  in  the  family  of  the  Editor,  was  behind  time  in 


editor's  table.  251 


its  issue.  I  have  therefore  thought  best,  to  combine  the  July  and  August 
Numbers,  adding  more  Matter — and  shall  do  the  same  with  the  September  and 
October  Numbers.  This  will  bring  it  up  to  time,  and  hereafter,  it  will  be 
issued  promptly  every  Month.  We  will  add  enough  Matter,  to  each  succeed- 
ing Number,  to  make  up  to  our  readers  the  apparent  deficiency. 

LOSS  OF  THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 

The  burning  of  this  fine  old  ship,  which  happened  on  the  27th  ultimo,  has 
thrown  a  veil  of  gloom  over  our  city,  which  extends  and  overshadows  more 
or  less,  of  the  whole  State.  For  the  one  hundred  and  ninety-eight  pas- 
sengers lost  and  missing,  how  many  thousands  are  made  mourners.  Our 
heart  is  pained,  to  see  among  the  number  the  name  of  John  E.  Cook,  son 
of  Mr.  John  Cook,  Jr,  of  New  York  City.  We  cannot  forbear  expressing 
our  deep  regret,  and  sorrow,  for  his  loss,  offering  our  most  earnest  sym- 
pathy to  his  bereaved  Parents,  and  the  young  Wife  so  early  Widowed. 
Although  in  the  morning  of  Life,  he  had  won  to  himself  a  numerous  circle  of 
friends,  who  will  sincerely  lament  his  departure.  Bright  prospects  and  happy 
days  seemed  to  lie  in  his  pathway.  Benevolent  and  broad  in  his  affectious, 
possessing  the  confidence  of  all,  as  a  man  of  Integrity,  few,  have  given  promise 
of  greater  usefulness.     To  his  family  he  has  left  an  unsullied  name. 


It  gives  us  pleasure  to  place  before  our  readers,  a  greeting  to  them,  from  our 
highly  esteemed  friend  and  co-laborer,  Mrs.  F.  H.  Day  : 

"  Strange  experiences,  dear  friehds,  and  readers,  have  been  ours,  since 
we  last  spread  the  Table  for  your  repast,  So  strange  and  weird,  that  save  to 
you,  who  so  well  know  our  matter  of  fact  nature,  we  should  hesitate  to  make 
reveal ments,  which  to  some,  might  seem  wild,  aud  fanciful,  and  to  others, 
mysterious  and  supernatural.  But  the  experience  we  are  about  to  relate,  is 
no  dream,  no  airy  flight  of  fancy.  Nor  yet  does  it  belong  to  the  mysterious 
realm  of  the  supernatural.  It  is  truth,  hard  substantial  matter  of  fact  truth  ; 
and  if  at  first  it  seem  to  you  strange  and  incomprehensible,  do  not  sneer  at, 
and  condemn  it,  as  the  wild  imaginings  of  a  disordered  brain. 

It  is  the  habit  of  the  age,  to  condemn  as  fallacious,  that  which  it  does  not 
readily  understand,  until  larger  growth,  and  fuller  development,  brings  it  up 
to  a  comprehension  of  facts,  which,  although  heretofore  strange  and  incompre- 
hensible, are  now  simple  and  acceptable,  not  that  the  truths  themselves  have 
changed,  either  in  their  character,  or  presentation,  for  they  remain  intrinsi- 
cally the  same.  But  that  a  fuller  expansion  of  power,  enables  them  now  to  be 
comprehended  and  appreciated,  by  the  very  age  and  people  who  a  short  time 
since  cried  out,  "It  is  not  so  ;"  "it  cannot  be  true,  because  we  do  not  under- 
stand it!" 

But  to  our  experience. — Our  heart  was  heavy  with  the  weight  of  "Adieus," 
and  the  Aroma  of  parting  blessings  breathed  around  us.     The  last  "  Farewell"' 


252  THE   HESPERIAN. 


had  been  spoken  ;  the  last  warm  pressure  of  the  hand  been  given.  A  deathly 
sense  ofloneliness  and  desolation  was  slowly  stealing  over  us.  When  sud- 
denly we  found  ourself  possessed  by  some  strange,  unaccountable  power. 
Yes,  reader  ;  would  you  believe  it  ?  we  were  under  the  influence,  and  in  the 
awful  presence  i»f  a  powerful  Genii,  whose  potent  will,  held  sway  over  myriads 
of  human  beings,  controlling  their  ways  and  marking  their  devious  paths.  As 
the  first  wonderment  wore  off  and  we  became  a  little  accustomed  to  the  strange 
Presence,  we  tried  to  analyze  the  singular  influence,  and  bent  an  inquiring 
glance  of  scrutiny  upon  the  fearful  Being.  But  ever,  as  we  tried  to  look  upon 
it,  it  vanished  in  clouds  of  snowy  whiteness  before  our  eyes. 

Sometimes  we  thought  we  perceived  a  snow-white,  collossal  head,  from 
which,  gleamed  two  sparkling  eyes,  like  coals  of  living  fire.  But  as  we  gazed, 
it  slowly  faded  before  our  vision,  and  in  misty  wreaths  of  vapor,  ascended  up  to 
heaven.  Again,  a  white  hand  beckoned  us  to  closer  acquaintance,  and  then, 
as  we  approached,  that,  too,  dissolved  in  sparkles  like  falling  dew,  and  was 
lost  to  mortal  sight.  One  thing  that  seemed  to  us  most  incomprehensible, 
was,  that  this  Being,  apparently  without  Form  or,  tangible  substance,  this,  as 
it  seemed  to  us,  Myth  of  the  air,  should  move  and  propel  ponderable  bodies  of 
thousands  of  tons  burden,  and  should  also,  apparently  with  the  greatest  ease, 
move  hundreds,  and  thousands,  of  tangible  human  bodies  ;  who,  with  all  their 
bone,  and  muscle,  and  sinew,  were  powerless  to  resist  this  strange,  weird  in- 
fluence, which  possessed  neither  form,  or  shape,  and  even  vanished  into  airy 
nothingness,  as  the  human  eye  rested  in  contemplation  for  one  moment  upon  it. 

Te  our  oft  repeated  queries ;  what  art  thou  ?  whence  earnest  thou  ?  this 
answer  was  finally  borne  to  our  astonished  senses.  "  I  am  the  GENII  of  the 
Ninteenth  Century.  Evoked  by  the  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE  from  Forest 
woods,  and  deeply,  darkling  waters.  I  am  the  first  of  a  race  whose  force  shall 
compass'  sea,  and  land,  and  before  whose  mighty  power,  MYSTERY  shall 
stand  revealed,  as  simple  truth  of  Nature  born." 

The  grandeur,  and  prophetic  power  of  the  answer  awed  us  into  silence. 
We  refrained  from  further  questionings,  and  contented  ourself  with  such  ob- 
servations as  we  were  able  to  make  from  time  to  time- 

One  thing,  struck  us  as  peculiar,  under  the  influence  of  this  GENII.  Most 
individuals,  exhibited  their  ruling  traits  of  character,  all  adornments,  and  dis- 
guises, fell  from  them,  and  left  the  dominant  passion,  whether  of  good  or  evil, 
glowing  in  intenser  light,  from  the  blank  which  surrounded  it. 

Thus  we  saw  the  modern  Shylock,  whose  pinched,  unrelaxing  features, 
and  thin  drawn  lips,  gave  forth  but  one  expression — "  the  pound  of  flesh." 
And  there  were  men,  who  under  other  circumstances,  might  have  seemed 
genial,  kind,  and  good.  But  under  the  all  pervading  influence  of  the  GENII, 
their  disguises  forsook  them,  aud  exposed  the  haggard  features,  and  grasping 
hands  of  Avarice,  with  eyes  of  lead,  ears  of  stone,  and  hearts  of  adamant,  by 
whom  the  widows  tears  were  unseen,  the  orphans  cries  unheard,  and  the 


editor's  table.  253 


shrieks  and  tears  of  the  helpless,  forever  unheeded.  Many,  very  many,  too, 
we  saw,  upon  whose  hard  features  were  graved  evidences,  of  that  intense  sel- 
fishness which  warps  humanity,  and  turns  all  its  well-springs  of  happiness, 
into  dry,  arid  channels,  which  give  forth  no  answering  blessing. 

And  there,  also,  was  the  gay  woman  of  the  world,  her  face  not  now 
wreathed  in  smiles,  not  now  uplifted  in  her  hand  the  eup  of  Pleasure — her 
smiles  have  fled,  and  on  her  face  now  rests  the  expression  of  that  keen,  deep, 
passion  of  the  soul,  which  artists  yet  have  ever  failed  to  picture.  Her 
hands,  wrung  convulsively  together,  are  clasped  in  the  deep,  silent,  unutter- 
able anguish  of  Eemorse.  And  by  her  side,  in  strange  contrast,  stood  a 
Mother,  whose  face,  more  radiant  than  any  we  had  yet'beheld,  glowed  with  the 
Divine  attribute  of  LOVE,  pure,  undying,  unselfish  Love.  Her  hands,  too, 
were  clasped,  but  within  the  clasp,  was  a  cherub  child,  emblem  of  Hope,  and 
Promise,  in  the  years  to  come. 

And  one  there  was  whom  we  should  not  forget,  his  ruling  trait  was  mirth. 
All  things  to  him,  became  subservient  to  his  love  of  Fun.  He  seemed  to 
have  a  peculiar  faculty,  of  Bhowing  the  inaccurate,  and  inelegant  manner,  in 
which  many,  give  expression  to  their  thoughts  and  feelings.  For  instance  : 
we  were  all  partaking  of  some  refreshment,  (for  even  under  the  influence  of 
the  Geni  we  had  need  of  food),  when  a  gentleman  asked  a  lady,  who  was 
richly  cloathed  in  silk  and  jewels,  if  she  would  be  helped  to  a  piece  of  the 
squash  pie?  "  Squash  pie  !  "  she  replied,  with  a  shrug  of  her  fair  shoulders, 
"No,  I  can't  bear  them."  "And,  if  you  could,"  said  the  lover  of  fun, 
"  would  you  devour  your  own  children  ?  "  The  lady  turned  upon  him  a  look 
of  surprise  and  dismay.  But  all  around  had  discovered  the  point,  and  caught 
the  infection  of  his  mirth-provoking  propensity,  as  with  a  triumphant  chuckle 
he  disappeared  from  the  scene. 

And  now  a  low,  deep,  gurgling  sound,  like  the  breath  of  huge  monsters 
on  the  sea,  broke  upon  our  ears,  louder,  and  louder  it  rose,  like  the  last  wail 
of  frantic,  despairing  souls  as  they  plunge  headlong  into  the  yawning  gulfs, 
and  fiery  depths  below.  Still  louder  it  rises  ;  like  the  shrieks  of  the  ever  rest- 
less, never  dying  children  of  the  Infernal  regions  of  Discord  and  Strife. 
But  the  spell  was  broken — the  mystic  power  of  the  Genii  loosed  its  hold. 
Slowly  its  influence  departed  from  us,  and  left  us  to  resume  our  individuality. 
We  had  reached  Panama — and  now  recognized  the  Genii  that  had  transport- 
ed us,  as  the  same,  that  had  often  before,  cooked  our  potatoes  for  dinner. 
•Steam. 

And  so  friends,  we  leave  you  for  a  season,  till  we  view  this  strange  city  of 
the  sea — at  another  time  we  shall  gladly  renew  our  chat  with  you. 

Truly  yours, 

Mrs.  F.  H.  Day." 


THE  FATE  FLOWER. 

AN  AMUSEMENT   FOR   HOLIDAYS   AND   LEISURE   HOURS. 

This  beautiful  little  Gift,  blooming  with  the  buds  of  poesy,  bears 
evidence  of  its  origin,  in  the  mind  of  our  gifted  correspondent,  Mrs.  Fanny 
Green.  In  its  innocent  hilarity  of  thought,  in  its  fertility  of  suggestion,  touch- 
ing as  it  does  with  its  mystic  fingers  the  trembling  veil  of  the  unknown  future, 
nothing  conld  be  better  adapted  to  impart,  not  only  vivacity  and  good  cheer, 
but  deep  feeling  and  earnest  thought,  to  the  pleasures  of  the  social  hour. 
Mrs.  M.  A.  Hezlep  is  agent  for  the  sale  of  the  Fate  Flower,  and  we  bespeak 
for  her  the  kind  attention  of  those  on  whom  she  may  call. 

Notice. — We  take  pleasure  in  referring  our  readers  to  the  Advertisement  of 
MRS.  DIXON  &  PUTMAN,  (which  will  be  seen  on  another  page)  where 
can  be  found  Bonnets  of  the  latest  and  most  finished  Stjies,  suited  to  every 
variety  of  taste.  The  most  fastidious,  cannot  fail  to  be  pleased  with  the  dis- 
play of  artistic  skill  and  beauty.  The  rich  Furs,  Laces,  Ribbons,  etc.,  etc., 
of  this  Establishment,  are  not  surpassed  by  auy  other  in  this  City,  and  the 
affable  attentions,  and  quiet  politeness,  which  these  Ladies  extend  to  their 
customers,  are  uot  the  least,  among  the  many  inducements,  it  offers. 

A  L'ESPERANCE  RESTAURANT,  647  Commercial  Street. 

To  those  of  our  Country  friends,  and  Strangers,  to  whom  it  may  be  con- 
venient to  know  of  a  Restaurant,  where  they  will  find  unexceptionable  Cater- 
ing, civil  attentions,  and  a  Dinner,  consisting  of  five  or  six  courses,  (Wine  and 
Coffee  included)  served  up,  at  an  unusually  moderate  price,  we  would  re- 
ommend  them  to  call  at  the  A  l'Esperance,  647  Commercial  street,  between 
Montgomery  and  Kearny  streets. 

Notice. — Madame  Landgraf,  who  is  in  charge  of  the  Emporium  of  Fashion, 
No.  Ill,  Montgomery  Street,  (S.  0.  Brigham  &  Co.,)  has  on  hand  Pat- 
terns of  the  most  recent  European  and  New  York  styles,  of  which  she  is  in 
monthly  receipt.  We  take  pleasure  in  recommending  Madame  Landgraf  as 
an  Artiste  in  Dress-fitting.  Those  who  have  once  tested  her  skill  will 
acknowledge  her  superior  merits. 

Notice. — We  would  call  the  attention  of  the  ladies  of  San  Francisco  and 
California,  to  the  establishment  of  Mrs.  Cotter,  north-west  corner  of  Fourth 
and  Howard  streets,  (No.  148),  where  they  will  find  a  beautiful  assortment 
of  knit  and  crochet  articles  for  infants'  wardrobes;  also  breakfast  capes,  son-, 
tags,  shawls,  lady  Adelaides,  etc.,  etc.,  for  ladies'  wear.  Their  assortment  is 
superior  to  anything  ever  before  seen  in  this  country,  or  any  other.  These 
ladies  excel  also  in  marking  and  designing  for  embroidery  and  braiding.     Do 

NOT   FAIL   TO   CALL   ON   THEM. 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


Vol.  VIIL]   SEPTEMBER  &  OCTOBER,  1862,  [No.  6. 


A    DEFENSE     OF     THE     OPPRESSED. 


BY    W.    WELLINGTON    CARPENTER,    M.    D. 


I  speak  in  behalf  of  that  class  of  the  human  family  who  have 
ever  been  the  oppressed  victims  of  scornful  injustice.  From  the 
day  that  I  stepped  upon  the  platform  of  manhood,  the  reeking 
deeds  of  blood  which  stain  history's  page,  conjoined  to  the  pal- 
pable wrongs  of  suffering  mortals,  of  the  present  day,  which 
envelope  me  as  with  a  shield  of  piercing  thorns,  have  constantly 
called  to  me  in  a  voice  of  thunder  to  retrieve  the  base  wrongs  of 
insulted  intelligence.  And  should  I  ever  fail  to  face  the  ramparts 
of  bigotry,  and  discharge  that  sacred  duty,  to  the  extent  of  my 
feeble  ability,  I  should  fail  in  all  the  essential  elements  of  true 
manhood,  and  deserve  to  have  the  finger  of  scorn  pointed  at  me 
from  every  quarter  ;  but  worst  of  all,  I  should  despise  myself. 
The  mere  fact  in  itself,  of  possessing  "  the  human  form  divine," 
in  my  humble  opinion  confers  upon  its  possessor,  unjustifiable 
position.  The  simple  fact  of  being  in  the  shape  of  man  is  no 
evidence  that  in  that  form  a  man  exists ;  and  no  person,  injustice, 
should  be  ennobled  with  the  dignified  appellation  of  man,  until 
he  has  won  for  himself  the  right  to  be  thus  honored.  Think  you 
I  honor  that  thing,  who  smothers  every  God-given  instinct  of 
his  soul,  that  he  may  trim  his  every  action  to  the  popular  breeze, 
as  a  man  ?  Think  you  that  being  deserves  to  be  dignified  with 
the  title  of  man,  who  always,  like  a  feather  on  the  placid  bosom 
of  old  Ocean's  tranquil  surface,  calmly  and  unobstractedly  floats 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by  Mrs.   F.   H.  Day,   in   the   Clerk's 
Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Northern  District  of  California. 


256  THE   HESPERIAN. 


through  life  on  the  current  of  popular  Error,  rather  than  be  cru- 
cified in  defense  of  friendless  Truth  ?     Four  out  of  every  five,  in 
the  community,  this  day,  are  just  such  men.     The  "popular  man  of 
the  age"  is  a  representative  tool  of  the  opulent,  influential  mem- 
bers of  earth's  great   [?]  magnates,  who  never  fail  to  laud  his 
masterly  inactivity  to  the  very  skies.     It  was  the  "popular  man" 
who  never  failed  to  abuse  every  solitary  soul  of  earth's  immortal 
benefactors,  from  the  earliest  period  of  recorded  time  down  to  the 
most   recent  minutes  of  existence.     'Twas  he  who,  when  the 
astronomer  revealed  to  the  world  the  office  of  the  pale,  dim, 
majestic  moon,  that  steals  from  her  darkened  chamber  of  the 
East,  and  marches  on  her  gorgeously  illumined  track  through  the 
ethereal  immensity  of  boundless  space,  the  solemn  night  long, 
cried     "  humbug"       And     oh !     thou    grandest    handiwork   of 
God,  Woman  ;  after  patiently  enduring  all  the  combined  wrongs 
which  countless  ages  of  denied  rights  have  inflicted  upon  you  ; 
you  hope  that  man,  who  has  been  a  silent  spectator  of  those 
wrongs,  has  certainly  liberality   enough  to  allow  you  an  equal 
show  with  himself  from  the  present  time  forward,  and  on  the 
strength  of  that  hope  you  venture  to  ask,  not  that  passed  wrongs 
should  be  redressed,  but  that  you  may  have  an  equal  opportu- 
nity with  the  lords  of  creation  in  the  future  race  of  life,  and  the 
"popular  man"  grunts  forth,   "  Strong-minded — she  is  trying  to 
don  the  breeches."     Oh  Woman!  patient,  long-suffering  woman ; 
how,  how  much  longer  will  you  tolerate  the  senseless  cackling 
of  fools  to  deter  you  from  properly  cultivating  and   developing 
your  immortal  minds,  and  assuming  your   legitimate,  but  long 
denied  position  in  society  ?     Rome  was  saved  by  the  cackling  of 
a  goose  ;    but  woman  has  been  almost  lost  by  the  cackling  of 
fools. 

But  few,  very  few,  se?iously  reflect  upon,  or  weigh  the 
immense  degradation  which  the  unrecognized  rights  of  woman 
has  inflicted  upon  her  sex.  It  is  overwhelmingly  astounding. 
Were  those  wrongs  an  insult  to  her  intelligence  only,  they  would 
be  less  intolerable,  but  she  suffers  socially  correspondingly — her 
degradation  is  universal.  That  which  man  can  do  with  impunity, 
is  an  unpardonable   offense  when  committed  by  woman     The 


A  DEFENSE  OF  THE  OPPRESSED.  257 

question  with  dear  society  is  not  what  is  the  magnitude  of  the 
crime  ?  but  which  sex  is  the  author  of  it  ?  If  helpless,  unoffend- 
ing woman  has  erred,  kick  her  down  to  the  end  of  time,  but  if 
self-important  man  has  sinned,  the  answer  is,  "  ivhy,  is  that  all?" 
One  case  will  elucidate  my  position  to  the  comprehension  of  the 
feeblest  understanding.  Two  farmers  of  equal  character  and 
position  live  neighbors.  One  has  an  only  son  upon  whom  the 
parents  have  lavished  all  the  fond  love  of  parental  affection.  The 
other  has  an  only  doting  daughter— the  cherished  idol  of  her 
parents'  highest  ambition.  In  the  course  of  time  this  young 
couple  enter  into  a  contract  of  marriage — she  on  the  one  side 
prompted  by  the  purest  motives  that  undefiled  virgin  love  could 
dictate  ;  while  he,  on  the  other  side,  from  the  very  commence- 
ment contemplated  the  perpetration  of  the  blackest  deed  that 
ever  stained  the  annals  of  crime — the  complete  and  total  ruin  of 
that  innocent,  confiding,  child  of  nature.  He  goes  forth  with  a 
certainty  that  victory  will  crown  his  damnable  scheme — he 
almost  sees  triumph  written  upon  his  black  banner.  He  knows 
that  his  Upas-like  hold  upon  that  unsuspecting  girl's  affections,  will 
sooner  or  later  eventuate  in  a  triumphant  victory.  At  last  he 
accomplishes  her  ruin — he  tells  her  he  never  meditated  marriage 
— and  society  turns  her  an  outcast  upon  the  world,  while  it  embraces 
him  i7i  lhc4  arms  of  affection.  Yes,  she  is  denied  everything — even 
sympathy — and  is  ejected  forever  from  what  the  world  denom- 
inates respectable  society;  while  he,  the  sole  author  of  all  the  crime, 
let  it  be  great  or  small,  is  petted,  invited  and  courted,  and  occu- 
pies the  highest  seats  of  honor  in  that  very  respectable  [?]  society. 
Oh  !  man,  arrest  your  mad  career,  and  resolve  from  this  forward 
to  be  just.  When  your  brother  does  wrong,  deal  leniently  with 
him,  but  do  not  suffer  his  sex  to  shield  him  from  merited  rebuke. 
And  oh  !  woman,  to  you  I  appeal  in  earnest,  merciful  tones  of 
supplication.  Proclaim  to  the  world  your  rights,  and  if  need  be 
sacrifice  yourself  in  defense  of  those  rights.  True,  you  will  have 
to  endure  the  epithet  of  being  called  "  strong-minded,"  by  the 
"popular"  part  of  the  lords  of  creation.  But  then  reflect  that 
this  thing  must  be  done — the  natural  progress  of  the  nineteenth 
century  demands  it — and  how  unjust  in  you  to  force  Lucy  Stone, 


258  THE    HESPERIAN. 


Mrs.  Smith,  Mrs.  Frrnham,  and  a  few  other  immortal,  God-like 
spirits,  to  work  out  the  salvation  of  the  whole  sex.  And  then 
again,  sensible,  worthy  men  will  never  cry  out  against  you, 
"  strong-minded."  No,  not  a  man  worthy  of  your  regard  will  do 
any  such  thing.  And  when  your  sister  errs,  be  merciful  under 
all  circumstances.  Eemember  that  appearances  are  deceitfnl. 
You  never  will  commit  a  crime  by  being  too  lenient.  Where  in 
all  the  wide  world  can  there  be  found  a  victim  of  baser  decep- 
tion, or  one  which  appeals  to  our  heartfelt  sympathy  in  tones  of 
deeper  earnestness,  than  the  case  cited  above  ?  Possessing,  as- 
woman  does,  the  essential  attributes  of  human  nature,  there  can 
no  power  of  logic,  law,  or  usage,  diminish  the  force  or  justice  of 
her  claims  to  the  rights  of  humanity.  Admitting  that  she  is 
endowed  with  the  same  rational  nature  as  man,  ■end  required  to 
assume  the  responsibility  of  her  every  action  before  the  estab- 
lished tribunals  of  law  and  public  opinion,  she  has  a  legitimate 
claim  to  all  the  rights  and  immunities  which  belong  to  such  a 
nature,  and  all  the  privileges  of  every  character  which  are  insep- 
erable  from  those  relations,  as  truly  belong  to  her  as  they  do  to 
man. 

If  woman  has  a  spiritual  nature,  and  through  that  spiritual 
nature  she  is  enabled  to  sustain  relation  to  truth,  and  Grod,  it  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  direct  insult,  to  defend  her  equality 
with  man,  for  it  is  a  palpable  fact  that  man  cannot  boast  Of  more. 
If  for  want  of  a  high  state  of  mental  culture,  which  we  are  guilty 
of  having  withheld  from  her,  and  the  existence  of  unyielding  cus- 
toms, and  social  abuses,  she  is  now  less  able  to  vindicate  her 
rights  than  man,  they  should  be  regarded  as  all  the  more  sacred 
and  inviolable.  Surely  none  but  the  blindest  worshiper  of  a  per- 
verted social  state,  or  a  soulless  tyrant  who  delights  to  libel  the 
mother  who  gave  him  birth,  will  trample  on  the  rights  of  woman. 
Brave  men  may  triumph  over  the  strong,'  but  when  the  strength 
of  manhood  is  employed  to  hold  the  defenseless  and  unresisting 
nature  in  abject  bondage,  the  author  of  such  oppression  at  once 
dishonors  his  humanity,  and  deserves  to  dwell  in  some  lone  wil- 
derness, far  from  the  enchanted  presence  of  fairer  and  nobler 
natures.  For  man  to  fortify  himself  by  throwing  around  his  own 
cherished  rights  the  powerful  arm  of  the  law,  and  then  to  scoff  at 


A  DEFENSE  OF  THE  OPPEESSED. 


259 


the  claims  of  woman  when  she  asks  for  like  protection,  and 
pleads  with  all  the  power  of  her  persuasive  eloquence,  that  her 
rights  may  be  secured,  and  her  wrongs  redressed,  is  base  and 
cowardly,  and  proves,  beyond  cavil,  how  unworthy  is  man  to 
wield  the  power  he  has  usurped.  Those  who  were  born,  and 
reared,  and  always  resided  in  old  settled  communities  within  the 
enchanted  presence  of  woman,  can  be  pardoned  for  not  entertain- 
ing a  worthy  appreciation  of  her  character,  but  old  '49'ers  of 
California,  who  have  cooked  their  own  beans,  spread  their  own 
beds,  and  washed  their  own  shirts,  without  even  a  view  of  a 
woman's  approving  smile,  will  tell  you  that  contrast  has  taught 
them  to  correctly  appreciate  her  true  worth  ;  and  they  will  con- 
jure you  to  revere  her  name  to  the  end  of  time.  They  will  tell 
you  that  they  have  seen  fine,  promising  young  men,  sink  down, 
down,  down  the  path  of  crime,  to  the  pit  of  hopeless  ruin ;  who, 
when  surrounded  with  the  moral  atmosphere  which  ever  eman- 
ates from  well  regulated  female  society,  were  ornaments  to  their 
race  ;  and  had  they  never  been  removed  from  that  pristine  influ- 
ence, would  have  been  the  very  bulwarks  of  society.  In  fact, 
it  is  a  rule  the  world  over,  that  where  the  influence  of  female 
character  is  felt  the  strongest,  there  virtue  and  morality  are  tri- 
umphant. Look  at  the  matter  in  whatever  light  you  will,  and 
the  evil,  arising  from  woman's  inequality  with  man  stares  you  in 
the  face.  I  think  any  candid  man  will  admit  that  the  most  cor- 
rupt class  of  society  in  the  land  is  political  society.  Putrid  polit- 
cal  corruption  is  now  trying  to  destroy  the  best  Government  that  the 
genius  of  mortal  man  ever  conceived.  In  fact,  politics  and  iniquity 
are  synonymous  terms.  What  is  the  cause  of  the  great  corrup- 
tion in  this  class  of  people?  Only  think  of  the  metamorphose. 
In  its  pristine  state,  politics  and  the  science  of  government  were 
synonymous  terms,  but  now,  politics  and  corruption  are  synony- 
mous. Again  I  ask  how  should  this  branch  of  society  have  be- 
come so  iniquitous  ?  Can  you  tell  me,  reader  ?  The  cause  is 
very  plain  to' me.  Had  I  have  been  in  existence  in  the  days  of 
Herodotus,  I  should  have  predicted  this  very  state  of  things. 
Ah  !  it  is  because  woman  is  denied  her  inalienable  rights,  and  our 
political  halls  are  deprived  of  her  beneficent  influence.  Did  man 
admit  woman  as  his  political  equal,  our  congressional,  and  legis- 


260  THE    HESPEEIAN. 


lative  halls  would  never  have  been  the  scene  of  such  disgraceful 
tableaux,  as  those  which  form  a  distinguishing  feature  of  such 
places  at  the  present  day.  It  is  contrary  to  precedent  to  sup- 
pose that  men  would  thus  conduct  themselves  in  the  society  of 
ladies.  How,  how  much  longer  will  it  be  before  man  will  learn 
that  in  crushing  woman,  he  not  only  crushes  himself,  but  all  the 
dearest  interests  of  society  ?  Such  an  important  element  of 
society  cannot  be  immolated  without  more  or  less  shattering  the 
whole  fabric.  All  governments  thus  far  formed  by  man  have 
proven  failures.  All  have  died,  or  are  now  in  their  expiring 
struggle,  of — corruption.  And  when  that  government  is  modeled 
which  is  destined  to  endure  the  test  of  time,  woman  will  sta?id  on  an 
equality  with  man,  at  her  polls,  and  in  her  halls  of  legislation. '  If  the 
asperity  of  man's  nature  requires  tempering  with  the  atmosphere 
of  woman's  mild,  benign  influence,  in  one  sphere  of  life,  it  does 
in  every  other,  because  his  nature  is  the  same,  find  him  where 
you  will.  Thus  far  I  have  only  claimed  for  her  equal  education, 
and  social  rights  with  man.  I  claim  no  more  now.  But  if  the 
education  of  either  is  neglected  let  it  be  that  of  man,  for  man's 
influence  is  less  than  woman's  on  youth.  The  laws  of  nature 
place  woman  in  a  position  in  which  she  is  forced  to  mould  the 
human  character.  At  the  maternal  breast  the  child  receives 
those  impressions,  the  influence  of  which  remains  with  it  through 
life.  Then  how  necessary  is  it  that  that  fountain  head  should  be 
pure  and  refined.  Should  we  confer  the  bulk  of  education  upon 
the  women  of  our  country,  we  would  be  bestowing  it  where  it 
would  be  repaid  to  us  with  treble  interest,  through  the  pervad- 
ing influence  of  the  youth  of  our  land.  Yes,  it  would  come  back 
to  us  with  more  than  compound  interest,  in  the  gratifying  shape 
of  an  intelligent  posterity.  Give  me  cultivated,  intellectual 
mothers,  and  I  will  give  you  an  intelligent  race  of  human  beings. 
Or  in  other  words  let  me  educate  the  mothers  of  a  nation,  and  I 
care  not  who  makes  its  laws.  The  fact  is  if  women  were  prop- 
erly educated,  and  then  allowed  a  controlling  voice  in  all  the 
affairs  of  life,  there  would  be  but  precious  little  need  of  binding 
laws.  But  we  are  yet  in  the  dark.  We  prefer  to  battle  with 
evil,  to  taking  the  necessary  steps  to  relieve  the  land  of  the  bane- 
ful presence. 


THE     POET 


BY  DUG ANNE. 


Like  the  wandering  camp  of  Israel,  in  the  wilderness  of  Zin, 
Is  the  mighty  world  we  dwell  in,  with  its  turmoil,  and  its  din  ; 
And  the  Poet,  like  old  Moses,  when  his  thoughts  to  God  aspire, 
Holdeth  communo  with  high  Heaven,  on  his  spirit  Mount  of  Fire. 

From  the  camp  of  old  opinions,  and  the  strife  of  earthly  things, 
To  the  Sinai  of  his  spirit,  lo !  the  trusting  Poet  springs  : 
And  the  glorious  words  of  Genius,  by  Jehovah's  fingers  wrought, 
Like  the  tablets,  of  high  teachings,  are  engraven  on  his  thought. 

Then  with  ardent  hopes,  and  longings,  to  the  camp  of  men,  he  turns, 
While  the  reflex  of  God's  splendor,  on  his  lofty  forehead  burns. 
Lo  !  they  kneel  before  an  idol — lo  !  they  worship  senseless  gold, 
Like  the  wilderness  idolaters,  before  the  calf  of  old  ! 

Can  ye  blame  the  lofty  Poet,  that  he  turns  in  scorn  away, 
From  the  grovelling  souls  around  him,  that  are  moulded  in  the  clay  ? 
Can  ye  blame  him,  if.  despairing,  he  shall  dash  his  thoughts  to  earth  : — 
Break  the  tablets  of  his  genius,  that  in  God,  have  had  their  birth  ? 


Postmaster  Franklin. — In  1754,  Benjamin  Franklin  was 
postmaster  general,  with  permission  to  make  6000  pounds,  Con- 
tinental money,  out  of  the  whole  post  office  department  in 
America.  The  very  next  year,  he  gave  the  astounding  notice — 
that  the  mail,  which  had  before  run  once  a  fortnight  to  New 
England,  would  start  once  a  week — the  year  round,  whereby, 
answers  might  be  obtained  to  letters  between  Philabelphia  and 
Boston,  in  three  weeks,  which  had  before,  required  six  weeks. 
In  1774,  it  was  announced  in  all  the  papers  of  the  Colony,  that 
John  Perkins  engages  to  ride  Post,  to  carry  the  Mail  once  a  week 
between  Philadelphia  and  Boston,  and  will  take  along,  or  back, 
led-horses,  or  any  parcel.  When  a  post-rider  proposed  starting, 
notice  was  given  of  his  intention,  by  advertisement,  also  by  the 
town -crier,  for  several  days  in  advance.  In  1793  the  number  of 
post  offices  had  increased  through  the  country  to  seventy-five. 

In  1862  ?  !  !  ! 


REVOLUTIONARY     REMINISCENCES. 


The  Author  of  the  following  interesting  passage,  from  a  private 
journal,  is  a  distinguished  American  traveller. 

Extract  feom  the  Journal  of . 


London,  Thursday,  Dec.  4,  1782. — The  great,  the  glorious 
day  has  arrived,  when  unconditional  Independence  will  be 
solemnly  recognized  by  George  III,  in  the  presence  of  God  and 
man.  Such,  at  last,  are  the  well-earned  fruits  of  a  sanguinary 
and  eventful  contest  of  eight  long — long  years,  in  which  period 
one  hundred  thousand  brave  Americans  have  cemented,  on  the 
altar  of  their  country,  with  their  precious  blood,  a  prize  which 
will  bless  unborn  millions,  and  in  its  eventual  effects,  produce  a 
new  era  over  the  entire  surface  of  this  benighted  world.  At  an 
early  hour,  in  conformity  to  previous  arrangements,  I  had  the 
honor  to  be  conducted,  by  the  Earl  of  Ferens,  to  the  very  en- 
trance of  the  House  of  Lords.  At  the  small  door,  he  whispered 
softly  into  my  ear :  "  "  Get  as  near  the  foot  of  the  throne  as  possible 
— maintain  your  position — fear  not."  I  did  so,  with  all  the  assur- 
ance of  a  traveled  Yankee,  and  found  myself  exactly  in  front  of 
the  throne,  elbow  to  elbow  with  the  celebrated  Admiral,  Lord 
Howe,  who  had  just  returned  from  a  successful  relief  of  Gibral- 
ter.  The  ladies  of  the  nobility  occupied  the  lords'  seats  on  the 
wool-sacks,  so  called,  as  an  emblem  of  the  power  and  wealth  of 
Old  England,  because  that  it  has  been  mainly  derived  from  wool. 
The  lords  were  standing  here  and  there,  promiscuously,  as  I 
entered.  It  was  a  dark  and  foggy  day — a  proper  English  hang- 
ing day.  To  add  to  its  gloomy  effects,  the  old  Saxon  windows 
stand  high  up,  with  leaden  bars  to  contain  the  diamond-cut 
panes  of  glass.  The  walls  were  also  hung  with  dark  tapestry,, 
representing  the  defeat  of  the  Great  Spanish  Armada,  in  1588. 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  recognizing  the  celebrated  American 
painters,  West  and  Copley,  and  some  American  ladies,  in  the 
group — all  rebels  at  heart — intermixed  with  many  American 
royalists,  some  of  whom  were  my  near  relatives,  with   long 


REVOLUTIONARY   RDMINISCENCES.  263 

dejected  faces,  and  rage  and  despair  depicted  in  every  lineament 
of  their  features.     How  opposite  were  our  feelings ! 

After  standing  for  two  hours  in  painful  suspense,  the  ap- 
proach of  the  king,  was  announced  by  a  tremendous  roar  of 
cannon.  He  entered  the  same  small  door  on  the  left  of  the 
throne,  and  immediately  seated  himself  in  the  chair  of  state, 
decorated  in  his  royal  robes,  in  a  graceful,  formal,  and  majestic 
posture,  with  his  right  foot  resting  on  a  stool.  He  was  evident- 
ly agitated  ;  and  drew  slowly  from  his  pocket  a  scroll  containing 
his  humiliating  speech.  I  was  exactly  in  his  front,  six  or  eight 
feet  distant,  with  my  left  foot  braced  upon  the  throne,  to  sustain 
my  position  from  the  pressure  in  my  rear,  and  critically  watched 
with  the  eye  of  a  Lavater,  at  that  moment,  every  emotion  of 
of  his  agitated  countenance.  He  began  :  "  My  Lords  and  Gen- 
tlemen :  " — and  in  direct  reference  to  our  independence  said — "  I 
lost  no  time  in  giving  the  necessary  orders,  to  prohibit  the 
farther  prosecution  of  offensive  war  upon  the  continent  of  North 
America.  Adopting,  as  my  inclination  will  always  lead  me  to 
do,  with  decision,  and  effect,  whatever  I  collect  to  be  the  sense 
of  my  parliament,  and  my  people ;  I  have  pointed  all  my  views, 
and  measures  in  Europe,  as  in  North  America  to  an  entire  and 
cordial  reconciliation  with  the  Colonies.  Finding  it  indispensa- 
ble to  the  attainment  of  this  object,  I  did  not  hesitate  to  go  the 
full  length  of  the  power  vested  in  me,  and  therefore  I  now  declare 
them  " — (here  he  paused,  and  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  was 
in  evident  agitation — the  pill  he  had  to  swallow  in  the  next 
breath,  was  repugnant  to  his  digestive  organs.  In  1775  he 
repelled  our  humble  petition  with  indignity — but  in  17S2,  he 
found  himself  prostrate  at  our  feet) :  he  recovered  himself  by  a 
strong  convulsive  effort,  and  proceeded  thus  :  "  I  declare  them 
free  and  independent  States.  In  thus  admitting  their  separation 
from  the  crown  of  their  kingdom,  I  have  sacrificed  every  consid- 
eration of  my  own  to  the  wishes  and  opinions  of  my  people.  I 
make  it  my  humble  and  ardent  prayer  to  Almighty  God,  that 
Great  Britain  may  not  feel  the  evils  which  might  result  from  so 
great  a  dismemberment  of  the  empire,  and  that  America  may  be 
free  from  the    calamities  which  have  formerly  proved  in  the 


264  THE   HESPERIAN. 


northern  country,  how  essential  monarchy  is  to  the  enjoyment  of 
constitutional  liberty.  Religion,  language,  interests,  and  affec- 
tion, may,  and  I  hope  will,  yet  prove  a  bond  of  permament  union 
between  the  two  countries."  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the 
sensations  of  my  rebellious  mind,  at  the  moment  when  the  king 
hesitated,  to  pronounce  the  words— -free  and  independent  !  and  to 
notice  with  what  a  bad  grace  he  had  to  swallow  the  dose  ;  every 
artery  was  in  full  play,  and  beat  high,  in  unison  with  my  proud 
American  feelings.  It  was  impossible,  not  to  revert  my  eyes 
across  the  Atlantic,  and  review  in  rapid  succession,  the  miseries, 
and  wretchedness,  I  had  witnessed,  in  several  stages  of  the  war, 
prior  to  my  leaving  America — the  wide-spread  desolation,  result- 
ing from  the  obstinacy,  of  this  very  man  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  our 
humble  appeals  to  his  justice,  and  mercy,  as  if  a  god ;  but  now, 
prostrate  in  his  turn.  In  his  speech  he  tells  us  in  one  breath, 
that  he  has  sacrificed  every  personal  consideration,  in  other  words, 
— not  yet  satiated  with  innocent  blood  shed  by  his  Indian  allies — 
and  in  the  next,  hypocritically  invoking  high  heaven  to  guard  us 
against  calamities,  etc.  The  great  drama  is  now  closed — the  ball 
was  opened  at  Lexington,  where  the  British  red-coats  were  taught 
to  dance  down  to  Charlestown,  to  the  tune  of  Yankee  Doodle. 
On  this,  occasion,  it  fell  also  to  my  lot,  to  march  from  Providence, 
E.  I.,  with  a  company  of  seventy-five,  well  disciplined  young 
men,  all  dressed  in  scarlet,  on  our  way  to  Lexington,  but  they 
hmdijied,  before  we  could  reach  the  scene  of  action.  From  the 
House  of  Lords,  I  proceeded  to  Mr.  Copley's  dwelling  in  Leices- 
ter Square,  to  dine ;  and  through  my  ardent  solicitation,  he 
mounted  the  American  stripes  on  a  large  painting,  in  his  gallery, 
the  same  day — the  first,  which  ever  waved  in  triumph,  in  Eng- 
land. In  leaving  the  House  of  Lords,  I  jostled  in,  side  by  side, 
with  West  and  Copley,  enjoying,  the  rich  political  repast,  of  the 
day,  and  noticing,  with  silent  gratification,  the  anguish  and 
despair  of  the  Tories.  In  the  House  of  Commons,  the  ensuing 
day,  there  was  not  much  debate,  but  a  good  deal  of  acrimony. 
Commodore  Johnston  attacked  Lord  Howe's  expedition  to  Gib- 
ralter,  because  he  had  not  gained  a  decisive  victory,  over  the 
combined  fleet,  of  forty-five  sail,  of  the  line,,  with  thirty-seven 


REVOLUTIONARY    REMINISCENCES. 


265 


ships.  Burke  then  rose,  indulging  in  a  vein  of  satire,  and  ridi- 
cule, a  severe  attack,  on  the  king's  speech  the  day  previous,  on 
the  subject  of  American  independence — saying,  it  was  a  farrago 
of  nonsense,  and  hypocrisy.  Young  Pitt,  the  newly  created  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer,  then  rose,  and  handled  Burke  with  dig- 
nified severity,  charging  him  with  buffoonery  and  levity.  Having 
received  from  Alderman  Wood,  a  card  of  admission,  to  the  gal- 
lery of  the  House  of  Commons,  as  the  house  was  about  rising,  the 
Alderman  (who  is  a  member)  came  into  the  gallery,  and  invited 
me  to  descend  with  him,  to  the  floor  of  the  house.  I  met  Mr. 
Burke,  with  whom  I  had  breakfasted,  who  introduced  me,  as  a 
messenger  of  peace,  to  Pitt,  Conway,  Fox,  Sheridan,  and  two  or 
three  members,  grouped  on  the  floor.  I  never  felt  more  elevated 
in  my  life.  In  describing  this  scene,  to  a  friend  in  France,  in  a 
moment  of  exultation,  I  subjoined — "  figure  to  yourself,  my  dear 
friend,  a  young  American  traveler,  of  twenty-four,  standing  on 
the  floor  of  the  British  House  of  Commons  (where  the  destiny  of 
dear  America  in  its  infancy  has  been  so  often  agitated)  as  a  mes- 
senger of  peace,  surrounded  by  a  group,  the  brightest  constella- 
tion of  political  men,  that  ever  graced  the  annals  of  English  his- 
tory ! — and,  what  is  more  gratifying,  to  my  American  pride,  the 
very  men,  with  one  exception,  who  have  recently  compelled  tyrant 
George,  to  yield  with  a  bad  grace,  to  all  our  just  demands,  in  my 
presence  !  Not,  to  have  been  thus  affected,  at  that  tremendous 
crisis,  I  should  have  been  more,  or  less,  than  a  man. 


Man  is  said  to  live  in  a  state  of  order,  when  he  acts  from 
supreme  love,  to  the  Lord,  and  charity,  towards  his  neighbor, 
and  in  obedience,  to  the  Divine  will.  He  is  depraved,  or  in 
disorder,  just  in  the  degree,  that  he  acts  from  the  love  of  self, 
and  the  love  of  this  world,  and  disobeys,  the  known  will,  of  the 
Lord. 


Bluntness  of  manners  is  decidedly  a  fault ;  it  either  shows, 
a  want  of  regard,  for  another's  feelings,  an  affectation  of  sincerity, 
a  bad  education,  or,  the  neglect,  and  abuse,  of  a  good  one. 


MARCH    OF    FREEDOM. 


BY  ELIZA  A.   PITTSINGER. 


The  lady  alluded  to  in  the  poem,  is  Miss  Emma  Hardinge,  a  lecturer  in  the 
East,  who  is  devoting  much  of  her  energies  to  the  establishment  of  a  Mag- 
dalen Asylum. 


In  earnest  tones  a  woman's  voice  is  pleading 
For  poor  forsaken  ones  across  the  main — 
In  gentle  love  their  lonely  lives  now  leading 

To  usefulness  again  ; 
A  woman  stands,  with  helping  arms  extended, 
To  those  whom  Custom  ne'er  has  sought  to  aid — 
To  those  whom  Church  or  State  has  ne'er  befriended — 

But  all  assistance  stayed. 

Now  Fashion  points  with  cold  and  cruel  finger, 
And  turns  her  haughty  head  in  scorn  and  pride 
From  those  she's  doomed  in  useless  lives  to  linger — 

From  hope  and  love  denied  : 
She  tramples  on  the  weak — the  strong  upraising — 
To  bold  Aggression  widely  ope's  her  door, 
Whose  creaking  hinges  on  the  lone  one  turning, 

Bid  her  come  no  more. 

Oh,  Custom  !  hang  thy  head  and  veil  thy  blushes, 
And  look  upon  thy  deep-stained  soul  within — 
Examine  well  its  soiled  and  shattered  tablet, 

Nor  dare  to  speak  of  pin  ! 
Oh !  veil  thy  face,  while  woman,  noble,  fearless, 
Stands  forth  in  all  her  queenly  strength  and  pride, 
Daring  to  plead  for  the  desolate  and  the  cheerless 

Against  the  opposing  tide. 

As  once  with  Inspiration  fervent,  glowing, 

The  saintly  Maid  of  Arc  went  forth  with  helm  and  sword- 

On  each  brave  warrior  in  the  ranks  bestowing 

God's  battle-sword  ; 
The  conflict  won — the  vanquished  foe  retreating, 
Retraced  their  hopeless  steps — their  homes  to  gain — 
While  Peace  unfurled  her  pure  and  spotless  banner 

O'er  field  and  plain. 

"  But  too  much  fame  has  been  the  meed  of  woman," 
Too  lofty  aspirations  in  her  soul  had  shown ; 


MAKCH   OF   FREEDOM.  267 


A  veil  of  strength— of  power  more  than  human 
Around  her  then  was  thrown  : 
Thus  speaks  the  Past — when  bold  and  dark  oppression 
With  impious  hand  e'er  sought  the  light  to  stay- 
That  from  eternal  founts  was  then  revealing 
A  more  auspicious  day. 

Now  Freedom  dons  the  golden  shield  and  helmet — 

Unfurls  her  banner  to  the  whispering  breeze, 

Whose  stainless  form  with  Light  and  Wisdom  glowing 

Is  borne  across  the  seas 
Where  Tyranny,  long  with  firmless  hand  uprearing 
Her  weak  and  tottering  throne  of  boasted  might, 
From  whose  decaying  spoils  now  bold,  unfearing 

Ascends  a  form  of  Light. 

A  form  of  Light  and  Beauty  now  is  glowing, 
With  hopeful  aspiration  caught  from  High — 
A  voice  is  heard  throughout  the  land  proclaiming 

The  promised  era  nigh  ; 
Oh,  who  shall  crush  this  living  form  of  beauty, 
As  now  from  clime  to  clime  she  wings  the  way — 
Or  who  that  voice  of  fervent,  zealous  pleading 

Shall  dare  to  stay  ? 

Though  hireling  priest  beholds  the  form  advancing, 
And  seeks  with  nerveless  arm  and  weak'ning  force, 
With  dwarfish  skill,  his  fetters  now  are  forging 

To  stay  its  course  ; 
Though  frowns  the  bigot,  as  he  fondly  clingeth 
To  old  and  musty  creeds  so  basely  won — 
Though  hate  and  malice  point  the  shaft  he  hurleth, 

The  proud  form  marcheth  on. 

O'er  towns  and  cities  vast  like  magic  springing 
Presides  this  Genius  of  the  coming  age — 
Minerva-like,  the  peaceful  emblem  bringing, 

As  seen  by  Bard  and  Sage  ; 
Behold  her  footprints  on  the  plains  and  mountains — 
Along  the  proud  Sierra  wends  her  way, 
Where  sighing  winds  will  cool,  and  crystal  fountains 

In  mingled  music  play. 

From  bright  Pacific  shores  of  teeming  beauty, 
Where  Hesper's  rays  make  glad  the  joyous  plain, 
Vibrates  a  sound  to  souls  long  tried  in  duty 
Across  the  main  ; 


268  THE    HESPERIAN. 


Oh,  faithful  ones,  the  cross  so  bravely  bearing, 
Oh,  weary  not  while  Heaven  cheers  thee  on; 
The  immortal  wreath  each  brow  shall  soon  be  wearing 
For  victories  won. 

Arouse,  ye  dormant  souls  in  every  clime  and  nation  ! 
In  aid  of  woman's  woes  is  heard  a  woman's  voice — 
From  woman's  lips  that  glow  with  inspiration 

The  psean  sounds  rejoice  ; 
Rejoice,  rejoice  ! — a  brighter  day  is  dawning, 
When  mind  o'er  mind  doth  hold  electric  sway  ; 
From  error's  night,  now  beams  the  joyous  morning 

Of  endless  day. 


"  Poets  and  Poetry. — In  calling  to  mind  the  names  of  those 
writers,  who  have  contributed  to  the  poetic  literature  of  modern 
times,  how  many  are  there  which  can  hardly  be  thought  of, 
without  emotions  of  interest  and  love  !  Many  a  bright  star,  has 
arisen,  to  shed  its  beams  of  beauty,  and  loveliness,  over  the  earth. 
Many  a  gentle  fountain,  has  poured  forth  its  deep  streams  of 
sympathy,  aud  love,  to  refresh,  and  to  fertilize  the  human  heart. 
And  many  a  strong  voice  has  been  heard,  appealing  to  the  slum- 
bering energies  of  a  benighted  world,  and  endeavoring  to  arouse 
it  from  the  mental  lethargy  into  which,  by  the  all-engrossing 
cares  of  the  body,  it  is  so  continually  thrown  ;  many  are  they, 
who  have  thus  won  the  gratitude  of  mankind.  At  times,  the 
mental  world  has  been  aroused  by  a  voice  of  deep,  of  lofty,  and 
of  varied  strength.  Occasionally  we  witness  manifestations  of 
almost  superhuman  energy  and  power.  Individuals  have  arisen, 
in  all  the  strength  and  brilliancy  of  genius,  who,  soaring  high 
above  the  ordinary  race  of  mortality,  have  scattered  abroad  the 
splendid  creations,  of  a  vivid  and  exalted  imagination;  who  have 
swept  the  chords  of  the  poetic  lyre,  with  the  delicacy,  the  ener- 
gy, and  freedom  of  a  master ;  who  have  thrilled  us  with  the  sweet 
melody  of  their  gentle  strains  ;  who  have  awed  us,  with  the  dark 
and  fearful  conceptions  of  their  heated  imaginations ;  and  who 
have  raised  the  soul  to  a  higher,  a  fuller,  and  more  abiding  con- 
sciousness of  its  own  exalted  and  immortal  destiny.  And  per- 
haps, never  did  a  literature  present  a  more  genial  and  promising 
aspect  than  does  ours,  at  the  present  day." 


RUTH      MAY. 


BY  FANNY  GREEN  MCDOUGAL. 


[Continued  from  page  211.] 

"You  frighten  me,  Mrs.  Connal!"  she  said,  at  length.  "I 
fear  what  you  tell  me  is  too  true  !  Alas !"  she  added,  as  she  rose 
from  her  seat,  walking  rapidly  and  nervously  across  the  room. 
"  Alas  !  that  the  cares  and  necessities  of  life  should  make  us  blind 
to  our  own  deepest  interests  and  those  of  the  young  creatures 
committed  to  our  charge  !" 

"  An'  is'nt  it  the  pleg  spot  that's  in  her  chaek  now  ?"  pur- 
sued Mrs.  Connel,  "  an'  it  all  the  while  red  an  bright  as  my  wee 
bit  Denny's  own  ?" 

"  No  more  !  I  beseech  you,  Mrs.  Connal !"  almost  shrieked 
the  mother.  "  Speak  no  more  of  this  at  present.  I  will  talk 
with  you  another  time.     But  really  this  is  too  dreadful !" 

"  An'  it's  not  the  like  o'  me  that  wad  pain  a  mother's  heart, 
an'  I  wid-  the  four  bits  o'  my  own,  and  last  of  all  wad  I  pain  yours ; 
for  though  ye're  a  born  ieddy,  an'  I  know  well  by  everything 
about  ye  that  ye're  not  used  to  the  likes  o'  me  that  was  born  to 
be  no  bether  than  your  servant ;  but  I  love  ye  for  all  that — I  love 
ye  as  I  wou'd  an  angel,  that  could  lift  me  up  widout  coming- 
down.  An'  there's  somethin'  sames  dthrawin  from  your  heart  to 
mine,  till  I  feel  as  if  God  had  made  us  sisthers,  an'  somehow  I'd 
got  asthray  in  the  dark.  But  the  light  is  ever  shinin'  out  of  yer 
kind  heart  an'  yer  lovin'  eyes  to  laed  me  back  to  the  right  place, 
by  yer  side.  Forgive  me,  misthress  dear,  for  'tis  yer  own  self  has 
made  me  spake  so." 

Mrs.  May  held  out  her  hand  with  a  kind  and  encouraging 
smile  to  the  poor  woman,  who,  by  the  true  and  simple  light  of 
nature,  had  thus  read  the  profoundest  philosophy  of  social  ethics. 
Alas  !  when  shall  we  generally  perceive  that  all  our  brethren — 
the  most  unfortunate  and  the  most  sinful — have  only  been  led 
astray  in  the  dark,  and  that  we  ourselves  may  not  be  surely  in 
the  right  path.  Could  only  mis  be  felt — that  the  position  of  the 
poor  is  in  itself  an  accident  to  which  all  persons — and  especially 


270  .  THE     HESPERIAN. 


all  in  this  country — may  be  exposed,  and  therefore  should  be 
treated  as  a  misfortune  and  by  no  means  as  a  crime — that  even 
the  sins,  which  are  the  product  of  unnatural  want,  temptations, 
and  all  bad  influences,  are  not  to  be  cast  on  the  unsheltered  head 
of  the  doers  alone,  we  should  be  much  farther  toward  the  right. 
Could  the  common  mind  be  raised  to  the  comprehension  of  even 
this  single  idea,  a  most  important  step  would  be  already  taken 
toward  that  healthful  change,  which  the  whole  spirit  of  society, 
of  free  institutions,  of  the  age,  demand. 

But  to  return  to  the  poor  Irish  woman,  whose  simple  views 
went  direct  to  the  point.  Not  being  interrupted,  she  went  on. 
"  0,  misthress  May,  if  the  grand  rich  people  that  reads  the  big 
books,  an'  gits  the  larnin'  that's  locked  up  there  away  from  for- 
nent  the  poor  would  jist  let  the  light  that's  in  them  shine  forth 
like  the  blessed  light  of  Hiven,  as  if  God  meant  it  should  be  free 
to  all — an'  bliss  all — an'  niver  intinded  so  many  should  be  lift  in 
the  black  dark — it's  not  the  wake,  ignoranth  cratures  that  we's 
are  we'd  be  thin.  There' d  be  somethin'  to  incourage  us  an'  lead 
us  on — an  we'd  work  none  the  less — for  is'nt  it  the  light  an'  the 
frae  feelin'  that  makes  the  labor  itself  light  ?  I  can't  jist  spake 
it  out,  but  I  fael  it  haere" — and  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  heart — 
"  I  fael  I  have  a  soul  in  my  brist,  though  there's  so  many  niver 
saem  to  know  it.  But  whin  I  cum  foment  the  likes  o'  you  it 
saems  as  if  I'd  found  an  equal,  though  it's  you  never  cum's  down 
to  me — it's  I  as  saems  lifted  up  to  you." 

"  My  kind  friend,"  returned  Mrs.  May,  "  you  have  now  paid 
me  the  highest  compliment  it  has  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to 
receive  ;  and.  though  I  by  no  means  feel  that  I  quite  deserve  it, 
I  cannot  be  otherwise  than  proud  of  the  praise  you  bestow,  and 
happy  to  be  an  instrument  of  blessing,  even  in  the  smallest 
degree,  to  one  I  owe  so  much  of  kindness." 

"  Sure  it's  not  yerself  that  owes  anything,  at  all  at  all," 
replied  Mrs.  Connal,  "  but  turnin'  back  to  the  girl — "  and  her 
sunny  face  brightened;  as  if  she  had  hit  on  a  lucky  idea,  as  she 
said,  "  Och!  an'  is  there  any  naed  o'  dyin'  in  these  days,  whin 
there's  niver  a  bit  o'  newspaper  that  corned  round  a  thrippeny 
loaf  but  has  miny  midicines,  an'  pills,  and  'lix'rs,  and  panacees 


RUTH    MAY.  271 


as'd  dthrive  the  could  consumption  itself  from  the  face  o'  the 
airth,  to  say  nothing  o'  favers,  an'  all  for  a,  few  shillin's  !  An' 
is'nt  it  raal  flyin'  in  the  face  o'  Hiven,  that's  pervided  the  maens, 
to  so  much  as  think  o'  dyin'  at  all  at  all !  excipt  now  and  thin  in 
the  way  of  accident,  and  that  could  be  done  widout  intintion  ! 
So  chaer  up,  misthress  dear,  for  is'nt  it  the  gracious  Providence 
that'll  sind  the  good  midicines  to  help  her,  the  darlint  !  an'  she 
so  young  and  sthrong  like  '?" 

Mrs.  May  could  not  resist  a  smile  at  this  sally  ;  but  the  thought 
of  medicines  suggested  the  idea  of  sickness,  and  she  shuddered  at 
the  prospect  which,  as  a  matter  of  sheer  economy  they  could 
so  ill  afford.  How  dreadfully  inured  to  suffering  must  be  that 
state, in  which  the  actual  pain  in  anticipating  disease, is  swallowed 
up  in  the  thought  of  its  incident  expenses.  Mrs.  May  shuddered 
at  the  ffloomv  and  terrible  idea. 

But  just  at  that  moment  the  door  opened  very  gradually,  and 
a  very  small  way,  and  then  a  bright  little  red  head  was  thrust  care- 
fully forward,  with  a  somewhat  apocryphal  expression  on  the 
freckled  face. 

"  Ah,  Denny  !  ye  thaef  o'  the  world !  is  it  ye,  an'  what  are  ye 
haere  for?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Connal.  But  though  she  began  with 
a  rebuke,  she  took  up  the  child  ;  and  with  a  perfect  flood  of  ten- 
der phrases,  mingled  with  quite  audible  kisses,  she  carried  him 
off,  screaming  that  he  would  stay  and  kiss  Miss  Ooty  first. 

As  they  went  out  Buth  herself  came  back.  Her  eyes  were 
red,  and  the  face  was  much  swollen,  as  if  she  had  been  weeping 
violently.  But  there  was  a  light  in  the  now  clear  eye,  and  a 
curve  in  the  compression  of  the  beautiful  lip,  which,  while  they 
spoke  of  the  struggle,  told  also  of  the  strength  which  had  been 
summoned  to  meet  it.  Yet  one  accustomed  to  a  close  analysis 
of  character  and  expression,  might  have  seen  that  the  newly 
awakened  sentiment,  was  a  resolution  to  suffer  rather  than  resist 
evil ;  to  endure  rather  than  surmount  it.  The  higher  step  was 
yet  to  be  taken. 

"  You  must  get  more  exercise  in  the  open  air,"  said  Mrs. 
May,  again  resuming  her  work  ;  for  that  must  be  done,  whatever 
else  was  left  undone  ;  and  she  had  already  suspended  it  for  some 

2 


212 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


minutes.  "You  confine  yourself  quite  too  much,  my  child," 
continued  the  mother,  unavoidably  stopping  again,  as  she  noticed 
the  agitation  of  Ruth.  "Alas!  I  have  neglected  you  quite  too 
much  !  But  I  cannot  allow  you  to  apply  yourself  so  closely  in 
future." 

"  But  you  have  labored,  and  still  labor,  night  and  day,  to  give 
me  bread,"  replied  the  girl.  "  Ah  !  I  see  that  you,  too,  are  not 
as  well  as  you  were ;  that  your  eyes  are  getting  dimmer.  Your 
cheek,  too,  is  thinner  and  paler,  your  voice  is  not  so  cheerful  as 
it  was,  and  you  stoop  a  little  now — a  very  little — sweet  mother 
mine.  You  work  too  hard.  It  is  impossible  to  disguise  the  fact  ; 
and  yet  it  must  always  be  so  at  the  meagre  prices  you  have. 
We  can,  at  best,  but  escape  starvation,  and  if  we  should  be  sick 
we  might  not  be  able  to  do  even  that,  unless  I  am  able — unless 
you  permit  me,  also,  to  cast  in  my  poor  mite.  Alas !  I  am  only 
a  burden  to  you  !  Though  I  try  so  much  to  help  you,  I  cannot !" 
The  poor  girl  burst  into  tears,  and  her  head  drooped  on  her 
mother's  shoulder. 

''Do  compose  yourself,  my  darling,"  entreated  Mrs.  May, 
passing  an  arm  round  her  daughter's  waist,  and  drawing  her  to 
her  bosom.  "I  have  no  time  to  soothe  or  comfort  you.  I  must 
finish  this  dress,  and  the  time  is  shortening  every  moment.  You 
know,  my  child,  I  have  no  time  for  tears.  Sorrow  for  anything, 
is  a  luxury  we  cannot  afford,"  she  added,  lifting  the  clustering 
hair,  and  kissing  Ruth's  flushed  cheek,  while  a  single  drop  fell 
from  furrow  to  furrow  down  her,  worn  and  sallow  one. 

"  Ah,  I  know  that  too  well!"  returned  the  girl,  sadly.  "  I 
will  not  be  so  selfish.  I  will — indeed  I  icill  be  calm !  I  will,  at 
least,  not  hinder,  if  I  cannot  help  you !  But  it  is  hard  to  think 
that  I  can  do  so  many  things  that  others  do — and  get  wTell  paid 
for  them — while  I,  can  earn  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing.  Why 
is  it,  dear  mother  ?" 

"  The  answer  must  be  found  in  this  one  fact,  my  child  : — the 
love  of  show  is  the  great  motive  principle  among  those  to  wrhom 
you  at  present  look  for  aid.  But  get  '  The  Flower'  now,  my 
love;  fori  must  work;  and  listening,  helps  me  on  better  than 
talking." 


• 


RUTH    MAY.  273 


"  Yes,"  returned  the  girl,  bitterly,  "Miss  Jerusha  Ann  Ben- 
nett must  have  her  dress  for  the  party  to-night,  if  it  were  em- 
broidered in  your  heart's  blood.  I  would  not  complain  of  this  if 
they  were  willing  to  pay  you  anything  like  the  worth  of  the 
work.  But  they  barely  give  you  enough  to  sustain  life,  though 
execution  like  yours  might  command  the  highest  prices.  Mrs. 
Shantler  has  from  three  to  four  dollars  for  making  a  dress  like 
that,  whle  you  get  but  one — and  that  is  cheaper  than  a  common 
print  at  twenty-five  cents.  And  all  that  execrable  talk  about 
patronage  and  charity  is  thrown  into  the  bargain." 

"  You  must  allow,  my  Ruthy,  that  is  a  great  deal  to  throw 
in,  for  people  who  measure  their  favors  so  exactly,  observed  Mrs. 
May,  with  a  slight  sarcasm  in  her  voice  and  manner. 

"  Yes,  more  than  they  can  afford,  and  I  wish  they  knew  it," 
returned  Ruth;  I'll  give  them  a  hint  some  day  that  their  stock  of 
good  feeling  is  so  very  small  that  they  may  exhaust  it  by  such 
an  unnecessary  waste,  even  of  words." 

"  As  the  adage  is,  we  might  as  well  laugh  as  cry,"  said  Mrs. 
May. 

"  Yes,  if  one  can  laugh,"  replied  Ruth,  sadly.  "  To  me,  this 
is  extremely  difficult.  I  wish  Mrs.  Bennett  could  come  here 
once  without  attempting  to  depreciate  your  labors  by  saying  that 
you  never  learnt  a  trade.  Suppose  you  never  have  learnt  a  trade ! 
What  then  ?  She  herself  acknowledges  your  fits  are  perfect ; 
and  she  gets,  in  addition  to  this  first  and  highest  advantage,  the 
elegant  execution  of  one  who  never  did  anything  otherwise  than 
neatly,  and  the  delicate  taste  of  an  order  of  mind  that  is  seldom 
brought  into  such  business.  Why,  Victoria  herself  might  employ 
you  with  the  advantage  of  adding  new  grace  to  her  royal  gar- 
ments. And  if  we  lived  in  her  kingdom,  I  might  present  myself 
before  her,  and  pray  her  majesty  to  patronize  you,  with  quite  as 
good  a  chance  of  success  as  if  I  laid  the  matter  before  the  illus- 
trious Mrs.  Bennett!" 

Taking  up  the  book  she  pointed  out,  Ruth  now  commenced 
reading,  and  the  beguiling  story,  losing  none  of  its  sweetness  from 
the  spirited  and  tasteful  reading,  flowed  on  happily ;  beguiling  one 
weary,  and  two,  aching  hearts  ;  and  occasionally  the  light  chink 


274  THE     HESPERIAN. 


of  the  meeting  thimble  and  needle,  chimed  not  inharmoniously 
with  the  familiar  music.  Thus  had  the  two  persons  present, 
wrapt  as  it  were  into  a  temporary  elysium,  found  labor  beguiled 
of  its  tedium,  and  poverty  half-cheated  of  its  sting,  as  if  obedient 
to  the  wand  of  the  potent  Seeress,  the  clouds  of  the  Actual  were 
painted  with  the  iris  hues  of  the  Ideal. 

They  were  roused  by  an  imposing  knock  from  the  large  iron 
knocker  at  the  door  below.  This  was  followed  by  a  heavy  and 
confident  series  of  steps  on  the  stairs  ;  and  directly  after,  a  large, 
and  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  a  gross  woman,  entered  the  room. 
The  vulgarity  of  the  new  visitor,  could  not  be  disguised  by  the 
fashionable  display  of  her  attire,  which  rather  became  a  medium 
for  its  more  conspicuous 'setting  forth. 

"  I  declare,"  said  she,  throwing  herself  on  the  first  chair  she 
met,  and  puffing  like  a  great  pair  of  wheezy  bellows,  "I  vow  an' 
declare  that  work-folks  hadn't  ought  ter  live  nowheres  but  on 
the  first  floor,  an'  I  told  Mr.  Bennett  so  the  other  day.  S's  I,  if 
that  Mrs.  May  don't  get  on  the  first  floor  putty  soon,  Mr.  Bennett, 
s's  I,  I  must  take  my  work,  though  I  hate  to  be  cruel,  somewhe's 
else,  s's  I." 

"  You  say  the  woman  never's  learnt  a  trade,  s's  Mr.  Bennet. 
Now  I'll  tell  ye  what  my  way  o'  doin  business  is  ;  when  I  want 
anything  done,  s's  he,  go  to  them  that  understands  what  they're 
about.  An'  s's  I,  that's  my  way.  But  you  know  the  woman's 
poor,  s's  I,  kind  o1  coaxin'  him  up — very  poor,  an'  it's  an  accom- 
modation to  have  our  work,  an'  I'm  willing  to  put  up  a  little  ; 
for  I  know'd  her  when  she's  young.  Wail  then,  s's  he,  if  you  be 
sich  a  fool,  don't  come  to  me  with  none  o'  yer  fuss  !  s's  he.  An' 
then  just  to  spite  me,  as  he  always  does  when  he  gets  ill  natur'd, 
he  lit  that  old  clay  pipe  o'  his'n  an'  went  to  smokin'.  Then  the 
girls  took  on  so,  'cause  he  wouldn't  smoke  segars,  like  a  gentle- 
man, and  would  smoke  pipes  like  an  old  codger,  that  I  really 
thought  Matildy  Jane — she  takes  arter  me,  dreadful  tender- 
hearted— would  ha'  gone  inter  fits.  So  you  see,  Mrs.  May,  what 
I  suffer,  to  obleege  ye — trouble  brought,  as  a  body  might  say, 
right  inter  the  bosom  of  my  family." 

Mrs.  May  and  Ruth  exchanged  glances;  but  neither  offered 


RUTH    MAY.  275 


any  reply,  as  the  lady  ran  on.  "  Now,  somehow,  I  allers  was 
made  tender-hearted,  an'  I  expect  to  suffer  for  it  as  long  as  I  live. 
'Taint  notkin'  mor'n  I  expect ;  and  I've  putty  much  made  up  my 
mind  an'  got  resigned  to  it."  Hereupon  she  folded  her  large  fat 
hands  on  her  capacious  breast,  with  an  expression  of  abandon- 
ment to  the  necessary  evil,  almost  worthy  of  being  brought  to  the 
stake,  as  she  continued,  "  an'  you  know,  Mrs.  May,  it's  something 
of  a  risk  to  put  nice  things  inter  the  hands  o'  them  that  never 
learnt  a  trade.  Now  this  dress  you're  makin'  cost  twenty  dol- 
lars of  hard  money,  Mrs.  May  ;  an'  if  you  should  spile  it,  I  could 
never  expect  you  to  pay  for  mor'n  half  of  it.  Ten  dollars  would 
be  full  as  much  as  you  could  afford  to  lose,  Mrs.  May.  So  you'd 
better  be  careful,  for  I'm  amazin'  pertic'lar.  Aud,  asforMatildy 
Jane,  I  don't  think  she  ever  did  have  anything  done  to  suit  her." 

Mrs.  May  shuddered  at  the  suggestion,  so  rudely  and  so  heart- 
lessly thrown  out.  But  she  only  cast  a  deprecating  look  at  Ruth, 
whose  pale  cheek  was  crimsoned  with  indignation  at  the  insult 
so  cooly  offered  to  her  dear  gentle  mother ;  but  she  dared  not 
speak,  though  a  torrent  of  burning  words  were  struggling  for 
escape,  and  the  first  speaker  again  took  the  floor. 

"  I  often  wonder  at  myself  to  see  how  I'm  put  upon,  's  you 
may  say,  without  a  word,  but  's  I  remarked,  I  allers  was  made 
tender  hearted.  And  what's  bred  in  the  bone  stays  along  with 
the  flesh.  I  pity  the  poor,  an'  like  to  accommodate  ;  but  that's 
my  make,  and  I  can't  help  it,  though  it's  money  out  of  pocket 
every  day  I  live." 

"  The  dress  is  ready  to  try  on,"  said  Mrs.  May,  without  offer- 
ing any  other  reply. 

"  They  say  tight  sleeve  's  goin'  down,  an'  Jenny  Linn's  comin' 
up — named  arter  the  greatest  song-singer  in  Christiandom.  I 
don't  jestly  know  where  that  country  is  ;  but  I  believe  it's  some- 
whe's  to  the  north,  in  the  neighborhood  o'  Bottomy  Bay.  I 
'spose  they  call  it  so  'cause  most  everybody  there's  named 
Christian." 

There  was  something  so  rich  in  this  sally,  that  Ruth,  who 
had  an  extremely  acute  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  freely  forgave 
the  speaker  for  her  former  grossness  in  consideration  of  the  mirth 


276  THE   HESPERIAN. 


now  afforded.  But  she  was  too  well-bred  to  express  her  thoughts 
openly,  though  her  face  brightened  with  a  more  genial  expres- 
sion than  it  had  yet  worn.  It  Las  been  said  by  a  distinguished 
genius  of  old,  that  the  gods  themselves  when  they  had  created 
man,  and  perceived  with  what  pompous  airs  the  puppet  strode 
about,  could  not  forbear  laughing  at  him,  to  their  great  refresh- 
ment after  so  hard  labor,  while  the  subject  of  their  mirth  joined 
in  it  with  a  most  hearty  unconsciousness,  and  thereby  got  a  good 
appetite  for.  his  first  dinner.  To  laugh,  therefore,  is  good. 
Another  more  modern  writer  has  observed  that,  while  man  is  the 
only  animal  endowed  with  the  power  of  laughter,  he  is  the  only 
one  that  really  deserves  to  be  laughed  at. 

Had  either  of  these  known  Mrs.  Bennett,  he  would  have  seen 
no  reason  to  recant  from  his  doctrine  of  the  ludicrous.  But  she, 
innocent  soul,  bridled  up  ;  for  she  saw  her  auditors  were  pleased, 
though  it  must  be  confessed  she  made  no  particular  effort  to  hold 
them  in  that  condition. 

"  Have  you  got  anything  new  for  waists  ?''  she  asked,  some- 
what loftily,  as  she  turned  the  dress  over,  scanning  every  seam ; 
then  immediately  adding,  "but  I  could'nt  expect  to  find  fashions 
here,  as  I  told  Jerusha  Ann." 

"  Certainly  you  could  not/'  returned  Mrs.  May,  with  some 
show  of  spirit,  under  her  usually  subdued  and  quiet  manner. 
"The  prices  I  receive  do  not  sustain  me  in  the  purchase  of  pat- 
terns.5' 

"  To  be  sure  ;"  replied  the  other  quickly.  Them  that  has'nt 
learnt  a  trade  could  nt  be  expected.  An'  so  this  mornin'  1  told 
the  girls — Jerushy  Ann,  Matildy  Jane,  and  Josephine  Adelaide 
— to  put  their  bonnets  right  on,  and  go  round  to  all  the  most 
fashionable  dressmakers,  jest  "s  if  they's  goin*  to  have  dresses 
made,  an'  so  see  all  the  patterns ;  for  they're  mighty  curus  and 
in  genus — an'  the  way  they  cum  it  over  the  dress  makers  was  a 
caution.  0,1  forgot,''  she  threw  in  parenthetically,  "that  I 
mus'nt  use  that  are  kind  o'  talk ;  though  somehow  it  does  come 
rather  natral ;  for  'Tildy  says  it's  altogether  below  our  present 
sphere — Matildy  Jane  belongs  to  the  Litter  arter,  yer  know — and 
that's  a  kind  o'  folks — judgin  them  by  what  they're  called,  an' 


RUTH    MAY.  277 


by  the  old  fashiii'  scripter  rule,  works — that  leaves  eveiy thing 
arter  them  all  in  a  litter ;  an'  I  s'pose  that's  the  way  they  got 
their  name.  Some  calls  'em  the  e-lite,  which  is,  I  s'pose,  the  new 
fashion  way  of  speakin'  pcr-lite."  And  another  rich  treat  in  the 
humorous  line  was  by  Ruth,  put  down  to  the  credit  of  Mrs.  Ben- 
nett, while  even  her  sedate  mother  could  not  resist  a  smile. 

But  nothing  daunted,  and  still  in  a  dialect  which  set  at  defi- 
ance the  lessons  of  her  promoted  juveniles,  the  lady  continued  : — 
"  It  takes  them,  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  May.  They  cum  home  tired  as 
any  dogs;  but  learnin' — though  I  never  used  to  think  so. — is  a 
great  thing  ter  help  anybody  erlong.  'Tis  surprisin'.  But 's  I 's 
goin'  to  say,  I  told  the  girls  you'd  probably  make  their  dresses 
at  half  price  for  the  sake  of  the  patterns,  an'  you'd  get  'em  dog 
cheap  at  that."     • 

u  At  half  my  price  !"  faintly  replied  Mrs.  May  ;  and  in  her 
actual  terror  at  the  thought,  her  words  died  into  a  gasp,  while 
Ruth  turned  pale  with  mingled  astonishment,  alarm,  and  con- 
tempt, "  You  surely  could  not  expect  me  to  take  less  than  I 
have  had  !"  pursued  Mrs.  May,  rallying  ;  for  she  saw  there  was 
a  hard  battle  before  her. 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  half  a  dollar  on  a  dress  will  make  some  dif- 
ference to  you,"  returned  the  lady,  pompously  spreading  forth 
her  own  gorgeous  array  of  satin,  and  playing  with  a  heavy  gold 
chain  while  she  spoke  ;  and  then  by  way  of  illustration,  or  apol- 
ogy for  her  own  display  of  finery,  she  added,  "  Mr.  Bennett's 
money  cum  pretty  hard,  Mrs,  May  ;  an'  we  must  be  savin'  on  it, 
for  I  a'nt  none  o'  them  vampires  that'll  suck  the  marrer  out  o' 
the  hard  workin'  bones,  an'  throw  it  away  for  nothin'.  But  I 
won't  be  hard  with  you,  for  I  allers  was  made  tender-hearted.  I'll 
give  you  seventy-five  cents  apiece  for  the  girl's  dresses,  and  you 
shall  have  the  patterns  free." 

Ruth  and  her  mother  again  exchanged  glances  of  agonizing 
terror  and  dismay.  The  dresses  at  a  dollar  apiece  would  barely 
sustain  life.  But  as  they  were  strangers  in  a  great  and  selfish 
city,  there  was  nothing  left  them  but  submission,  or  utter  beg- 
gary. Mr.  May  had  exhausted  the  remains  of  his  little  fortune, 
by  a  residence  of  some  months  in  New  York  for  the  purpose  of 


278  THE    HESPERIAN. 


submitting  to  a  painful  and  dangerous  operation,  under  the  best 
surgical  experience  and  skill.  The  operation  had  proved  fatal ; 
and  but  a  few  months  before,  he  had  left  his  wife  and  daughter, 
broken  down  in  health  and  spirits,  alone,  and  poor.  Their  friends 
lived  in  a  remote  part  of  the  country ;  and  had  they  been  pos- 
sessed of  the  means  to  make  so  long  a  journey,  there  were  many 
generous  hearts  and  hospitable  homes  that  would  have  been  open 
to  receive  the  widow  and  orphan  of  one,  who,  for  talents  and 
moral  worth,  had  always  held  a  distinguished  position  in  the 
society  to  which  he  belonged,  as  well  as  for  their  own  sake.  In 
the  city  they  knew  no  family  but  that  of  Mr.  Bennett,  the  hon- 
orable mistress  of  which,  had  been  a  quondam  servant  in  the  fam- 
ily of  Mrs.  May's  father.  She  had  married  Mr.  Bennett,  then  a 
Yankee  peddler,  whose  mercantile  genius  in  the  prosecution  of 
small  bargains  having  been  so  successful  as  to  warrant  the 
change,  he  had  moved  to  New  York,  where  he  first  opened  a 
small  retail  grocery.  This  was  ultimately  merged  in  a  wholesale 
and  large  importing  business,  from  which  the  ex-peddler  retired, 
as  some  said,  a  millionaire;  but  at  the  least  a  very  rich  man, 
even  in  this  city  of  princely  fortunes. 

Mrs.  May  and  her  daughter  now  saw  that  their  only  alterna- 
tive, was  either  to  humble  themselves  before  purse-proud  ignor- 
ance, by  making  known  their  necessities,  or  submit  to  her  terms. 
They  could  not  do  the  first ;  and  they  yielded  to  the  last ;  but 
it  was  with  heavy  and  almost  breaking  hearts. 

[To  be  continued.] 


How  many  noble  natures — how  many  glorious  hopes — how 
much  of  the  seraph's  intellect,  have  been  crushed  into  the  mire, 
or  blasted  into  guilt,  by  the  mere  force  of  physical  want  !  What 
are  the  temptations  of  the  rich,  to  those  of  the  poor  ?  Yet  see 
how  lenient  we  are  to  the  crimes  of  the  one — how  relentless  to 
those  of  the  other  !  It  is  a  bad  world  ;  it  makes  our  heart  sick 
to  see  the  injustice  and  inhumanity  that  obtains  in  society.  The 
consciousness,  of  how  little,  individual  genius — can  do  to  relieve 
the  mass — grinds  out,  as  with  a  stone — all  that  is  generous  in 
ambition ;  and  to  aspire  from  the  level  of  life,  is  but  to  be  more 
graspingly  selfish. 


THE  ACRES  AND  THE  HANDS. 


BY  DUGANNE. 


44  The  earth,  is  the  Lord's — and  the  fulness  thereof," 

Said  God's  most  holy  word  : — 
The  water,  hath  fish,  and  the  laud,  hath  flesh, 

And  the  air,  hath  many  a  bird  ; 
And  the  soil,  is  teeming,  o'er  all  the  earth, 
And  the  earth,  has  numberless  lands ; 
Yet  millions  -of  Jiands,  want  acres — 
While  millions  of  acres,  want  hands  ! 

Sunlight,  and  breezes,  and  gladsome  flowers, 

Are  over  the  earth,  spread  wide  ; 
And  the  good  God,  gave  these  gifts  to  men — 

To  men,  who  on  earth  abide  : 
Yet  thousands,  are  toiling,  in  poisonous  gloom, 
And  shackled,  with  iron  bands, — 
While  millions  of  hands  want  aeres — 
And  millions  of  acres  want  hands  I 

Never  a  foot,  hath  the  poor  man  here. 

To  plant  with  a'grain  of  corn  ; 
And  never  a  plot,  where  his  child,  may  cull 

Fresh  flowers,  in  the  dewy  morn.  |  ; 

The  soil,  lies  fallow — the  woods,  grow  rank ;  I  j 

Yet  idle,  the  poor  man  stands  ! 
Oh!  millions  of  hands  want  acres — 
And  millions  of  acres  want  hands  ! 

i  i 

'Tis  writ,  that  "  ye  shall  not  muzzle  the  ox, 

That  treadeth  out  the  corn  !" 
But  behold !  ye  shackle,  the  poor  man's  hands, 

That  have,  all  earth's  burdens,  borne  ! 
The  Land,  is  the  gift  of  a  bounteous  God — 
And  to  Labor,  his  word  commands, — 
Yet  millions  of  hands  want  acres — 
And  millions  of  acres,  want  hands! 

Who,  hath  ordained,  that  the  Few,  should  hoard, 

Their  millions,  of  useless  gold  ? — 
And  rob,  the  earth,  of  its  fruits  and  flowers, 

While  profitless  soil,  they  hold  ? 
Who,  hath  ordained,  that  a  parchment  scroll, 


280  THE   HESPERIAN. 


Shall  fence  round,  miles  of  lands, — 
When  millions  of  hands  want  acres— 
And  millions  of  acres  want  hands! 

'Tis  a  glaring  Lie,  on  the  face  of  day — 

This,  Kobbery  of  men's  rights  ! 
'Tis  a  lie,  that  the  word  of  the  Lord  disowns — 

'Tis  a  curse,  that  burns  and  blights  ! 
And  'twill  burn,  and  blight,  till  the  people  rise, 
And  swear,  while  they  break  their  bands — 
That  the  hands,  shall,  henceforth  have  acres. 
And  the  acres,  henceforth  have  hands  ! 


Woman. — To  the  honor  of  the  sex,  be  it  said,  that  in  the  path 
of  duty,  no  sacrifice  is  with  them  too  high  or  too  dear.  The 
voice  of  pleasure  or  of  power  may  pass  by  unheeded  ;  but  the 
voice  of  affliction  never.  The  chamber  of  the  sick,  the  pillow  of 
the  dying,  the  vigils  of  the  dead,  the  altars  of  religion,  never 
missed  the  presence  or  the  sympathies  of  woman.  On  such  oc- 
casions she  loses  all  sense  of  danger,  and  assumes  a  preternatural 
courage,  which  knows  not,  and  fears  not  consequences.  She 
displays  that  undaunted  spirit  which  neither  courts  difficulties 
nor  evades  them  ;  that  resignation  which  utters  neither  murmurs 
nor  regret ;  and  that  patience  in  suffering,  which  seems  victorious 
even  after  death  itself. — Judge  Story." 


It  is  rather  a  curious  incident,  that  when  the  American  Con- 
gress, sent  Dr.  Franklin,  a  printer,  as  Minister  to  France,  the 
Court  of  Versailles  sent  M.  Gerard,  a  book-binder,  as  Minister  to 
the  United  States.  When  Dr.  Franklin  was  told  of  it,  he  ex- 
claimed :  Well,  I  will  print  the  Independence  of  America,  and 
M.  Gerard  will  bind  it. 


The  worthiest  people,  are  most  exposed  to  injury  by  slander- 
ers ;  as  we  find  that,  to  be  the  best  fruit,  at  which  the  birds  have 
been  picking. 

Whoever  wishes  to  test  the  purity  of  friendship,  let  him  pass 
it  through  the  crucible  of  adversity. 


■ 


SKETCHES  OF  MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  NEIGHBORS. 


THE    WIDOW    CROLEY    AND    HER   BEAUTIFUL   NIECE. 


BY   MRS.  S.  M.  CLARK. 


"  The  Croley  estate "  looked  princely,  once,  from  my  grand- 
mother's favorite  window.  The  large  mansion,  with  its  ample 
court  yard  and  numerous  outhouses,  occupied  several  acres  of 
land,  while  its  orchard  and  park  extended  for  miles  along  the 
southern  margin  of  the  bay  on  its  winding  way  to  the  ocean. 
The  establishment  was  kept  up  in  the  English  style  for  many 
years.  The  lawns  were  closely  shaven,  presenting  a  beautiful 
velvety  green  to  the  eye,  and  the  garden  and  orchard  were  in  a 
high  state  of  cultivation. 

But  Maple  Hall,  as  the  old  mansion  was  called  by  its  fair 
mistress,  in  accordance  with  her  English  predilections,  has 
changed  with  the  changing  population.  Its  grounds  have  been 
divided  and  subdivided,  and  sold  and  resold,  until  it  has  entirely 
lost  its  once  proud  aristocratic  appearance. 

Truly,  Time  is  a  mighty  democrat.  He  laughs  at  the  divine 
right  of  kings,  and  the  priviledged  classes  of  earth,  as  he  comes 
from  Eternity  with  his  fleet  battalions  of  minutes  and  hours,  and 
hurries  onward  to  eternity,  sweeping  thrones  to  the  dust,  in  his 
rapid  progress,  and  leveling  all  human  conditions  and  distinctions. 
Ay,  he  raises  the  poor,  unfed  millions  from  their  hovels  and 
gloomy  cellars,  and  places  them  in  the  palaces  of  the  once  rich 
and  powerful,  while  he  points  with  his  merciless  spear  to  the 
crumbling  monuments  that  tell  of  decaying  greatness,  mingling 
its  dust  with  the  beggars  and  the  slaves,  in  earth's  common  sepul- 
chre. 

High-born  and  low  ;  how  puerile  to  Time  are  such  distinc- 
tions !  "  To-morrow  "  the  despised  '"  mud-sills"  of  the  bleak 
North,  the  native  soil  of  honorable  labor,  will  stand  side  by  side 
with  the  F.  F.  Vs.  of  the  old  dominion,  and  of  the  boastful  aris- 
tocracy of  the  sunny  South,  claiming  equal  shares  of  their  broad 
and  fruitful  acres,  and  winning  equal  honors  in  the  field  and  in 


2S2 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


the  forum.  "And  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow,"  the  ragged,  bare- 
foot peasant  boy  will  rise  in  the  dignity  of  his  manhood,  assert- 
ing the  innate  nobility  and  sovereignty  of  the  people,  and  rule 
the  destinies  of  nations. 

But,  a  truce  to  moralizing.  It  was  unfortunate  to  be  drawn 
into  the  vein  at  the  commencement  of  the  sketch,  while  the  rea- 
der is  supposed  to  be  waiting  impatiently  for  an  introduction  to 
"  The  Widow  Croley,"  as  the  lady  was  now  termed  by  the 
Neighbors,  and  her  beautiful  neice.  But  it  may  be  remem- 
bered by  those  who  have  seen  the  sketch  of  "Aunt  Hitty  Hath- 
news,"  that  the  Widow  Croley  and  her  beautiful  niece  have  al- 
ready been  presented.  "  The  Widow  Croley  "  was  there  in- 
troduced as  the  young  and  accomplished  bride  of  Capt.  Croley. 
But  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  have  recognized,  at  the  period 
of  her  history  which  we  are  now  sketching,  in  the  solemn  and 
stately  matron  of  forty  years,  the  hopeful  and  charming  wife  of 
eighteen  summers.  For  in  those  intervening  years  she  had  sounded 
the  deepest  deep  of  joy  and  of  sorrow  that  the  human  heart  can 
fathom. 

She  had  been  a  beloved  and  loving  wife,  and  the  mother  of 
two  noble  boys  ;  but  husband  and  children,  all,  were  swept  away 
by  a  single  stroke  of  fate,  leaving  her  home  and  her  heart  deso- 
late. When  the  boys  were  of  the  early  ages  of  twelve  and  four- 
teen years,  Captain  Croley  said  to  the  fond,  proud  mother,  I 
wish  my  sons  to  see  a  little  of  the  world  ;  you  must  spare  them 
to  me  for  one  short  voyage.  And  the  mother  consented  to  the 
painful  separation,  consoling  herself  with  the  prospects  of  their 
happiness,  and  the  promise  of  their  safe  and  speedy  return. 

She  took  leave  of  them  on  board  of  the  vessel  in  which  they 
sailed — a  well-built  merchantman,  bound  for  the  India  Seas — 
and  the  splendid  ship,  under  full  sail,  with  a  fair  wind  and  a  cloud- 
less sky,  floated  away,  like  a  majestic  bird,  upon  the  crested  bil- 
lows of  the  bay,  out  to  the  ocean,  attended  by  her  prayers  and 
blessings — but  no  returning  tide  brought  back  the  gallant  mer- 
chantman. Destiny  was  inexorable.  The  ship  was  wrecked  and 
lost  in  a  severe  storm  that  occurred  in  the  early  part  of  the  voy- 
age, and  the  public  journals  made  the  startling  announcement, 


SKETCHES    OF   MY   GRANDMOTHER'S   NEIGHBORS.  283 

"  every  soul  on  board  perished."     None  were  left  to  tell  the  sor- 
rowful tale  of  disaster  and  suffering. 

Poor  woman!  she  was  entirely  unprepared  for  the  terrible 
tidings,  and  the  suddenness  of  the  blow  paralyzed,  for  a  while, 
both  heart  and  brain.  The  Neighbors  said,  "As  soon  as  she 
heard  the  dreadful  news,  she  fell  senseless  upon  the  floor.  We 
laid  her  upon  the  bed,  and  tried  for  a  long  time  to  bring  her  back 
to  life  ;  and  when,  at  last,  she  opened  her  eyes,  she  neither  spoke 
a  word  nor  shed  a  tear." 

The  reaction  from  this  condition  of  mental  torpor,  was  at- 
tended by  an  alarming  brain  fever,  from  which  she  slowly  and 
painfully  recovered.  For  returning  health  and  strength  seemed 
to  her  only  the  renewal  of  her  agonizing  sorrow,  with  increasing 
power  of  endurance.  The  light  and  joy  of  existence  were  gone 
forever.  Returning  health  was  no  longer  life,  but  only  its  pain- 
ful semblance,  "  Oh  !  she  was  changed  as  by  the  sickness  of  the 
soul."  All  the  physician's  skill  could  not  restore  her  former  self '; 
he  had  no  power  to  5*  Minister  to  a  mind  diseased  ;  pluck  from 
the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow."  Only  one,  the  Great  Physician, 
can  do  that  for  the  poor  suffering  child  of  earth. 

The  Neighbors,  generally,  sympathized  deeply  with  "  the 
Widow  Croley"  in  her  bereavment,  although  in  discussing  the 
sad  event  in  their  social  gatherings,  they  expressed  the  "  firm  be- 
lief" that  it  was  a  signal  visitation  of  Heaven  for  the  purpose  of 
humbling  the  great  pride  of  her  heart,  and  they  sincerely  hoped 
and  prayed  that  it  might  produce  the  desired  effect.  But  this 
was  the  religious  view  of  the  subject,  and  did  not  militate  against 
their  pity  and  sympathy  for  her  as  a  suffering  woman. 

But  when  she  walked  abroad  once  more  among  them,  solemn 
and  stately,  with  her  great  sorrow  like  an  isolating  atmosphere 
about  her,  and  her  statuesque  face  saintly  and  sublime  in  its  ex- 
pression of  patient  endurance,  she  appeared  farther  removed  from 
them  in  her  grief,  than  she  had  in  her  proud  beauty,  when  she 
first  became  mistress  of  Maple  Hall.  And  when  they  proffered 
her  words  of  sympathy  and  consolation,  she  looked  wonderingly, 
almost  reproachfully  upom  them,  "  words  were  such  a  very  mock- 
ery "  of  the  deep,  heart-sorrow  that  no  language  has  power  to 


284 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


reach.  And  each  morning,  before  she  was  fully  awake  to  the 
new  day,  she  was  fearfully  conscious  of  a  terrible  burthen  of 
grief  upon  her  heart,  which  she  must  bear  alone,  and,  with  tear- 
less moans,  that  brought  no  relief  to  her  wounded  spirit,  she 
arose  with  the  burthen,  charging  her  soul  to  be  strong  to  bear. 
She  had  been  noble  and  commanding  in  appearance,  once  ;  she 
was  heroic,  now,  sublimated  by  suffering. 

The  pursuits  of  life  had  but  little  interest  for  her,  yet  she  neg- 
lected no  duty.  She  visited  the  poor  of  the  parish  ;  attended  all 
gatherings  in  the  village  for  benevolent  objects,  and  was  con- 
stant in  her  attendance  at  church,  and  all  religious  festivals.  And 
she  also  undertook  the  management  of  the  business  of  her  es- 
tate, hoping  by  constant  and  active  occupation  to  find  some  relief 
to  the  anguish  of  her  spirit. 

One  morning  of  early  spring,  five  long  years  from  the  period 
of  her  bereavement,  as  she  sat  alone  in  her  forsaken  library,  re- 
viewing the  sorrowful  events  of  her  past  history,  a  servant  en- 
tered with  a  package  of  letters  bearing  the  postmark  of  her  na- 
tive city.  The  seal  was  black,  and  she  shuddered  at  its  fearful 
significance,  and  paused  several  moments  before  breaking  it  to 
nerve  herself  with  courage  for  the  painful  intelligence  it  con- 
tained. Clasping  the  package  in  both  hands  with  a  deep  moan, 
she  exclaimed,  "Ah,  me  !  What  new  grief  has  come  to  probe 
my  bleeding  wounds,  to  lascerate  my  heart  ?  Who  among  my 
dear  kindred  and  friends  have  followed  my  husband  and  children 
to  the  land  of  shadows — to  the  hungry,  voiceless  grave?" 

The  epistles  contained  in  the  package  announced  the  decease 
of  her  brother-in-law.  He  had  been  the  husband  of  an  only  and 
beloved  sister,  who  passed  into  the  spirit  land  in  her  youth,  in 
giving  birth  to  a  daughter,  whom  she  left  to  the  care  and  love 
of  her  bereaved  companion.  They  gave  a  detailed  account  of 
his  sickness  and  death,  and  related,  with  much  feeling,  the  solici- 
tude he  expressed,  even  in  the  last  moments  of  expiring  life,  for 
the  future  of  his  darling  child.  It  appeared  that  he  had  em- 
barked in  speculation,  and  lost  a  large  fortune  in  his  ambition  to 
accumulate  a  larger  one  for  her,  and  the  disappointment  conse- 
quent upon  failure,  was  supposed  to  be  the  exciting  cause  of  his 


SKETCHES   OF   MY   GRANDMOTHER'S   NEIGHBORS.  285 

illness.  He  was  unreconciled  to  the  thought  of  dying  and  leaving 
her  penniless.  It  was  farther  stated  that  no  expense  had  been 
spared  in  the  education  of  th%  daughter,  and  that  she  was  good, 
beautiful,  and  talented,  and  had  been  the  idol  of  her  deceased 
parent. 

The  Widow  Croley  perused  with  the  deepest  interest  the 
events  narrated,  particularly  those  relating  to  the  young  lady, 
her  niece,  who  was  frequently  mentioned  with  admiration  and 
affection.  She  folded  the  manuscript,  and,  leaning  back  in  her 
arm  chair,  sat  for  hours  in  the  same  attitude,  looking  earnestly 
into  space.  Her  dark  eyes  were  charged  with  unshed  tears,  and 
there  was  an  unusual  light  in  their  depths,  that  had  been  awak- 
ened by  the  new  thoughts  that  agitated  her  spirit.  Kising  sud- 
denly, at  length,  and  pacing  the  polished  floor  of  her  library  with 
the  energetic  and  confident  tread  of  one  who  has  bronght  a  per- 
plexing question  to  a  favorable  solution,  she  exclaimed  : — 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  she  shall  be  mine  !  Who  has  so  high  a  claim 
to  the  child  of  my  beloved  sister  as  I?  Who  the  same  sacred 
right  to  love  and  protect  her?  Penniless!  did  they  say — my 
sister's  child  left  penniless  ?  She  is  no  longer  penniless — she  is 
my  heir  ! — all  that  I  have  is  hers  ! — and  she  shall  be  mine  !  I 
will  live  no  more  alone  ! — the  frosts  of  age  shall  not  chill  me  in 
my  prime  ! — my  desolate  hearth  shall  respond  once  more  to  the 
happy  voice  of  youth  !     Thank  Heaven  !     Thank  Heaven!" 

The  "  Widow  Croley's"  seat  was  vacant  in  the  old  "  Meeting 
House"  on  the  following  Sabbath,  and  for  several  consecutive 
Sabbaths.  And  when,  at  last,  she  appeared  in  her  accustomed 
place,  a  youthful  form,  draped  in  mourning  weeds,  sat  by  her 
side.  A  wealth  of  chestnut  hair  fell  in  shining  ringlets  from  be- 
neath her  sombre  hat,  and  earnest  blue  eyes  looked  through  the 
gloomy  veil  which  shaded  a  complexion  as  fair  and  pure  as  her 
own  youth  and  innocence.  It  was  Sarah  Mandiville,  the  Widow 
Croley's  beautiful  niece. 

The  young  lady  listened  attentively  to  Parson  Flindley's  long 
sermon,  delivered  in  a  soporific  monotone,  interested  and  amused 
by  its  peculiarity.  Her  coming,  had  not  been  announced  in  the 
village,  as  she  arrived  with  her  aunt  late  on  Saturday  evening, 


286  THE    HESPERIAN. 


and  her  unexpected  appearance  at  church,  created  a  lively  sen- 
sation among  My  Grandmother's  Neighbors.  Salts  and 
aromatic  spices  were  not  needful  ftuxiliaries,  as  usual,  to  quicken 
their  drowsy  powers  ;  for  eager  curiosity  to  know  who  she  could 
be — where  upon  arth  she  could  have  come  from,  and  how  long  she 
would  remain  in  the  village — was  a  powerful  stimulus  to  insure 
the  important  degree  of  wakefulness.  It  was  even  remembered, 
that  the  peculiar  Sabbath  faces  of  many  of  the  Neighbors  were 
less  impressive  than  usual,  and  that  others  entirely  neglected  to 
put  them  on  ;  they  were  so  taken  by  surprise,  and  spell-bound 
by  the  novelty  of  the  event. 

Polly  Spoonall  and  Debby  Clipper  were  in  a  miserable  state 
of  excitement  during  the  entire  service.  And  Polly,  who  led  the 
village  choir  with  her  sharp  treble,  leaned  impatiently  forward 
through  the  Parson's  lengthy  discourse,  to  command  a  fair  view 
of  the  Widow  Croley's  pew,  keeping  one  of  her  penetrating  gray 
eyes  on  the  young  lady,  and  the  other  on  the  preacher — she 
could  not  wholly  neglect  the  latter  duty ;  and  besides,  it  was  her 
highest  ambition  to  be  regarded  by  the  Neighbors  as  the  most 
devout  of  worshippers. 

"  After  service" — as  "  the  Widow  Croley"  rode  away  with 
her  beautiful  niece,  in  a  new,  stylish  carriage  which  she  had 
purchased  while  on  her  visit  to  B — ,  the  good  people  gathered 
in  groups  about  the  old  meeting  house,  and  within  its  large  ves- 
tibule, to  discuss  the  important  event,  and  satisfy  their  newly 
awakened  curiosity.  Polly  Spoonall  and  Debby  Clipper  could 
give  them  no  satisfactory  information  upon  the  important  subject, 
much  to  the  chagrin  and  mortification  of  those  ancient  maidens, 
as  they  themselves  were  equally  in  the  dark.  But  all  could 
comment  ad  libitum  upon  the  young  lady's  personal  appearance ; 
a  privilege  in  which  they  indulged  to  the  full  measure  of  satis- 
faction. Some  remarked  that  she  was  tall  and  graceful,  and  fair 
to  look  upon  ;  others,  that  she  was  attentive  to  the  sermon,  and 
conducted  herself  with  great  propriety.  The  general  sentiment 
expressed  was  in  her  favor ;  but  the  attention  that  she  g:  ve  the 
sermon  was  more  particularly  the  theme  of  the  conversation,  and 
was  commended  in  the   warmest  terms  by  those  who  had  not 


THE    HESPERIAN.  287 


listened  to  a  word  themselves,  so  entirely  had  they  been  occu- 
pied with  the  young  lady  and  her  belongings. 

On  the  following  week  all  the  visiting  portion  of  the  village, 
paid  their  respects  to  the  Widow  Croley  and  her  beautiful  niece, 
Miss  Mandiville.     They  were  delighted  to  learn  that  she  came 
for  a  perm  anient  residence   among  them — hoped  she  would  be 
pleased  with  the  country — hoped  she  would  be  very  neighborly 
— and  were  unfailing  in  their  good  wishes  and  invitations  abroad. 
The  event  of  her  coming,  was  a  God-send  to  the  Neighbors. 
It  opened  new  avenues  of  thought,  affording  topics  of  conversa- 
tion in  their  social  gatherings  for  many  weeks.     They  could 
speculate  at  pleasure  upon  the  precedents  of  the  young  lady,  and 
her  probable  future.     They  never  wearied  of  wondering  if  the 
rich  Widow  would  leave  her  large  property  to  her  beautiful  niece 
— and  if  she  intended  to  marry  her,  early  in  life — and  if  Deacon 
Barnhum's  eldest  son  would  not  make  a  capital  husband  for  her, 
the  one  of  all  others.     Polly  Spoonall  decided  the  latter  query  in 
the  affirmative  ;  and  said  that  she  would  not  be  at  all  surprised 
to  hear  that  there  was  already  an  understanding  between  the 
Deacon  and  the  Widow  relative  to  the  matter  ;  and  that  she  did 
not  believe  that  the  marriage  would  be  deferred  a  single  day  be- 
yond the  needful  time  for  the  young  gentleman  to  complete  his 
studies  for  the  ministry.     "  Any  one  can  see  with  half  an  eye," 
she  added  in  a  confidential  whisper,  "  that  he  is  very  much  in 
love  with  her.     Why,  he  can  scarcely  keep  his  eyes  off  of  her  an 
instant,  even  in  church-time ;  and  I  do  know  that  he  is  a  very 
frequent  visitor  at  Maple  Hall  when  he  is  in  the  village." 

"  They  say,"  she  continued,  "  that  he  won  the  highest  honors 
of  his  class,  at  the  B —  College,  and  will  take  a  distinguished 
position  in  the  church.  And  Tm  sure  there  could'nt  be  a  more 
suitable  match.  She's  quite  worthy  of  such  a  husband  as  he'll 
make.  Think  how  attentive  she  is  to  Parson  Kindley's  sermons  ! 
She  listens  to  every  word — yes,  yes;  she's  just  the  one  for  a 
clergyman's  wife — pious,  talented  and  beautiful." 

[To  be  continued] 


id  gi 

3 


TWO      PICTURES 


JENNY    AN  D    JOAN. 


BY  C.  H.  DORR. 


PART    I. 

Far  from  great  cities'  noisy  din, 
Of  pampered  vice  and  haggard  sin, 
A  rural  hamlet  long  had  stood, 
In  vale  half  hidden  by  a  wood. 
Here,  blest  in  labor's  sweet  content, 
Calmly  many  a  life  was  spent. 

Through  the  wood,  a  path  is  seen, 
Shadow'd  by  arch  of  living  green, 
"Where  moss-grown  stems  of  ancient  trees, 
Throw  out  their  arms  to  woo  the  breeze, — 
It  led  to  cottage  old  and  grey, 
Where  neither  wealth  or  art  held  sway. 

A  creeping  vine,  that  clambered  o'er, 
Covered  the  roof,  half  hid  the  door, 
And  flowers  that  blooming  sweet  as  fair, 
Gave  out  their  fragrance  on  the  air. 
Near  by,  all  rippling  through  the  lea, 
A  brook  gave  forth  its  melody. 

Beneath  the  porch,  in  rustic  guise, 

Yet  gaily  clad,  to  country  eyes, 

A  lovely  maid,  whose  store  of  wealth, 

A  well  taught  mind,  and  blooming  health — 

With  many  a  blush  or  downcast  look, 

Awaited  one  who  crossed  the  brook. 

Her  nut-brown  locks  with  leaves  are  bound, 
And  on  her  slender  waist  around, 
An  azure  ribbon  girds  the  flow, 
Of  spotless  robe,  pure  white  as  snow, 
Fair  as  some  Venus  from  the  sea, 
She  stood  adorned,  in  purity. 

Thus,  peasant  Jenny,  doth  await. 
Her  chosen  swain,  who  ope's  the  gate, 
Whose  stalwart  form,  blue  eyes,  and  face, 
Show  lineage  of  his  Saxon  race. 


THE   TWO    PICTURES.  289 


To-day  they  wed  their  hopes  aud  fears, 
To  share  their  toils  of  coming  years. 

As  round  the  oak  the  clasping  vine, 
So  they  their  arms  all  fondly  twine  ; 
"Jncursed  by  fashion,  or  high  state, 
The  village  priest  unites  their  fate 
In  olden  church,  whose  moss-grown  wall, 
Had  witnessed  empires  rise  and  fall. 

PART  II.     JOAN. 

A  palace  stands  of  ancient  days, 
Where  king  or  queen,  still  rules  and  sways, 
Of  massive  strength,  that  grand  and  old, 
But  proves  the  might  of  power  and  gold, 
Where  glittering  pageants  come  and  go, 
With  all  that  wealth  or  skill  can  show. 
Here  pomp  and  fashion  hold  their  reign, 
And  rank,  or  gold,  high  place  attain, 
Here  prince  and  nobles  close  allied, 
Uphold  their  ancient  state  and  pride, 
While  toiling  millions  labor  give, 
That  these  in  luxury  may  live. 

Here  nature  schooled,  gives  place  to  art, 
And  etiquette  must  rule  the  heart, 
By  gilded  trifles  constant  led, 
They  live  and  breath,  are  born  and  wed. 
Here  Joan  the  queen,  her  state  above, 
Scorns  plebian  passions,  hates,  or  love. 

Joan  weds  a  prince,  and  nations  crowd 
To  sing  their  praises  far  and  loud, 
With  endless  paeans  fill  the  air, 
To  prove  queens  great,  or  princess  fair. 
All  crowned  with  jewels,  Joan,  in  state. 
Would  seem  to  dare  the  frowns  of  fate. 

Far  peal  the  bells  o'er  forest  glade, 
Where  lives  the  humble  cottage  maid, 
And  loyal  shouts  still  pierce  the  skies, 
Where  Joan  the  queen  meets  wondering  eyes, 
She  rules  o'er  many  a  crowded  mart, 
But  Jenny  rules  one  loving  heart, 

Perchance  that  she,  low-born,  and  bred, 
In  cottage  humbly  rear'd  and  wed, 


290  THE     HESPERIAN. 


Shall  raise  beside  her  lowly  hearth, 
One  like  herself  in  rank  o;  birth, 
Yet  who  shall  be  a  mightier  one, 
Than  noble  heir  of  princess  Joan. 

Nature's  great  laws,  evaded,  bent, 
Ne'er  swerve  aside  from  high  intent; 
A  monarch  from  low  station  springs, 
While  fools  prove  heirs  to  mighty  kings. 
Joan's  issue,  thus,  may  prove  a  clown, 
But  Jenny's  live  to  wear  a  crown. 

Past  are  the  days  of  Iron  might, 
When  kings  all  ruled  by  holy  right ; 
Now,  poorest  hovel  by  the  way, 
May  hide  obficure  a  bright'ning  ray, 
That  yet  shall  shine  to  rule  the  earth. 
O'er  kings  whose  might  is  in  their  birth. 


LEISURE  HOUKS. 


In  what  way  can  our  leisure  hours  be  filled  up,  so  as  to  turn  to 
greater  account,  than  in  profitable  reading?  Young  men  do  you 
know  how  much  is  depending  on  the  manner  in  which  you  spend 
your  leisure  hours  ?  Ask  the  confirmed  inebriate,  when  lie  first 
turned  aside  from  the  path  of  sobriety,  and  if  his  memory  be  not 
gone  with  his  reason,  he  will  dwell  with  painful  recollection 
upon  the  hours  of  leisure  he  once  enjoyed.  Ask  the  victim  of 
crime,  when  he  took  the  first  step  in  his  reckless  career,  and  you 
will  probably  hear  from  him  of  the  leisure  hours  he  enjoyed  in 
his  youth.  On  the  other  hand,  do  37ou  see  a  man  who  was  once 
in  the  humble  walks  of  life,  now  moving  in  a  sphere  of  extended 
usefulness,  he  husbanded  his  leisure  hours.  Multitudes,  whose 
names  look  bright  in  the  constellation  of  worthies,  owe  their  ele- 
vation to  the  assiduity  with  which  they  improved  the  intervals 
of  leisure  they  enjoyed  from  the  pursuits  of  the  plow,  the  awl,  or 
the  anvil.  They  substitute  the  study  of  useful  books,  for  those 
trifling  amusements,  which  insiduously  lead  the  unwary  into  the 
paths  of  profligacy  and  vice, 


STICKY   GOLD    FLOWER. 


13  J. 

MISS    PIATT'S    LILY. 


POISON  OAK  AND  ITS  ANTIDOTES. 


BY    DR.    A.    KELLOGG. 


[For  illustration  see  p.  291.] 
We  have  been  applied  to  very  frequently  for  information  res- 
pecting the  Grindelia,  mentioned  in  Dr.  C.  A.  Oanfield's  commu- 
nication to  the  Santa  Cruz  Sentinel,  and  by  others  who  have 
"written  upon  the  poison  oak. 

Several  similar  plants  have  been  recently  shown  us,  with  the 
assurance  that  great  cures  had  resulted  from  their  application, 
under  the  supposition  that  they  were  the  plant  in  question. 
Only  a  few  days  since,  the  common  Kosin-weed  or  Gum-weed 
{Madia  sativa)  was  shown,  and  its  virtues  attested  by  a  medical 
gentleman  of  this  city — justly  it  may  bet  for  it  also  abounds  in 
resinous  properties  known  to  be  healing.  A  short  time  before, 
the  Madaria  corymbosa,  with  equal  commendations ;  also,  the 
Yerba  buena,  or  Micromeria.  The  two  preceding,  it  is  true,  an- 
swer very  well  to  the  current  popular  description  of  the  Grindelia. 
It  would  occupy  too  much  time  and  space  to  dwell  upon  the 
confusion  incident  to  mere  verbal  descriptions.  For  these  rea- 
sons, and  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of  our  friends,  we  purpose  to 
illustrate  the  subject,  rather  than  add  anything  to  what  has  been 
so  well  written  by  others. 

The  Grindelia  hirsutula,  here  figured,  will  serve  to  give  the  gen- 
eral reader  a  very  correct  idea  of  the  forms  of  them  all.  The 
bright  yellow  radiated  flowers  are  varnished,  and  shining  like  the 
common  buttercups,  aptly  suggesting  the  idea  of  little  sun-flow- 
ers. Their  brilliance  has  given  them  the  popular  name  of  the 
"  Sticky  Gold  Flower."  They  are  seldom  seen  two  inches  in 
diameter,  usually  an  inch  to  an  inch  and  a  half.  Before  flower- 
ing, or  while  in  the  young  imperfectly  expanded  state,  the  top 
or  disk  exhudes  a  white  frothy,  glutinous,  balsamic  varnish,  which 
as  the  flower  expands,  is  spread  out  over  it,  and  thus  effectually 
varnishes  the  surface  with  a  sticky  spume.  This  terebinthinate 
property  abounds  on  the  surface  of  the  plant,  generally  render- 
ing the  younger  portions  quite  viscid.     The  stem,  one  to  two 


294  THE    HESPERIAN. 


feet  high,  is  hairy  above,  (several  species,  however,  have  smooth 
stems.)  The  branches  are  purplish,  with* a  single  flower  at  the 
top.  The  upper  rigid  leaves  are  sharply  saw-toothed ;  set 
close  down  upon  or  clasping  the  stem.  The  root  leaves  have 
long  steins,  or  spatula-form,  mostly  drying  up  as  the  flowers  come 
out.     They  are  all  pellucid,  pitted,  and  finely  net-veined. 

The  fresh  bruised  plant  is  rubbed  over  the  parts  affected  by 
the  poison,  or  it  may  be  boiled  in  a  close  vessel  into  a  strong  de- 
coction, either  fresh  or  in  the  dried  state,  and  used  as  a  wash. 
One  application  is  often  sufficient  for  a  cure  ;  but  if  of  long 
standing,  several  days  will  be  required  before  any  improvement 
is  seen.  It  is  also  a  reputed  remedy  in  other  diseases  of  the 
skin,  attended  with  heat  and  itching.  The  fickle  Dame  declares 
this  to  be  invariably  successful. 

A  few  days  since,  an  experienced  Mexican  gentleman  sent  me 
a  specimen  of  the  Grindelia  robusta,  from  the  salt  marshes  of  Ala- 
meda, as  the  true  plant,  used  originally  by  the  Indians,  and  from 
them  by  his  countrymen.  This  plant,  we  regret  to  say,  we  were 
unable  to  obtain  in  flower.  Perhaps  at  a  future  day  we  shall  be 
able  to  furnish  the  readers  of  the  Hesperian  with  a  figure  of  it. 
Both  are  equally  esteemed.  It  is  likely  the  plant  on  the  borders 
of  the  Bay  has  the  salts  of  the  sea-water.  The  tongue  will  readily 
detect  a  difference,  and  it  may  be  found,  upon  analysis,  that  not 
only  salt  and  soda,  but  iodine  and  other  minerals  are  in  organized 
proportions,  rendering  it  far  preferable  as  a  general  remedy. 

Remarking  casually  to  Dr.  Bourne,  of  the  Pioneer  Water  Cure 
Establishment  of  this  city,  that  we  intended  to  write  a  brief  no- 
tice of  the  poison  oak,  he  kindly  offered  us  a  cut  of  the  plant, 
which  we  declined,  as  unnecessary,  since  all  unfortunately  knew 
the  common  pest  too  well  already.  Upon  second  reflection, 
many  instances  recur  to  our  memory  where  this  mistaken  im- 
pression has  been  shown  up  so  surprisingly  in  past  experience 
as  to  leave  little  excuse  for  its  repetition;  we,  therefore,  thank 
the  Doctor  for  his  timely  suggestion,  and  accept  the  favor. 
Dr.  B.,  by  the  way,  like  most  practitioners,  has  his  peculiar  no- 
tions of  the  true  cure,  of  which  he  gave  us  an  inkling,  viz  :  "  as 
the  poison  is  taken  in  by  the  skin,  it  ought,  physiologically,  to 


POISON    OAK    AND    ITS    ANTIDOTES. 


295 


be  expelled  in  the  same  way."  A  very  rational  theory,  to  say 
the  least ;  hence  his  steam  bath  treatment,  etc.  Our  object,  as 
before  stated,  was  not  even  to  allude  to  the  various  remedies  re- 
sorted to,  nor  do  we  feel  altogether  inclined  to  ape  the  "  Ring- 
tailed  Major,"  who  was  so  captivated  with  one  idea  that  he  chop- 
ped his  own  narrative  short  off. 

The  poison  oak  here  figured 
is  the  Rhus  divcrsiloba,  of  Torrey 
&  Grey,  similar  to  the  poison 
ivy  of  the  Atlantic  States,  (Rhus 
toxicodendron,)  both  in  its  ap- 
pearance and  poisonous  proper- 
ties. It  is  usually  a  humble 
shrub,  in  lone,  open,  and  arid 
situations,  but  wonderfully  as- 
piring in  moist,  rich  alluvion  ; 
in  close  proximity  to  the  mighty 
oaks  of  our  forests,  it  towers  a 
monstrous  vine,  many  hundred 
feet  in  height,  and  three  to  six 
inches  in  diameter,  as  seen  by 
Mr.  Canfield  in  the  oak  and  lau- 
rel grove,  on  the  road  south  of  San  Jose.  The  foliage  turns  to 
a  beautiful  purple  and  scarlet  in  autumn.  As  with  the  venemous. 
vine,  so  with  the  vicious — they  often  cling  and  climb  by  the 
great  and  good,  only  to  poison  and  repel. 


It  would  seem  that  the  oldest  house,  in  the  United  States,  so 
far  as  can  be  accurately  ascertained,  is  now  standing  in  Old 
Guilford,  Connecticut,  which  was  built  in  the  year  1639 — conse- 
quently it  is  now  223  years  old.  It  is  of  hammered  stone,  and 
stands  on  a  rise  of  ground  commanding  a  fine  view  of  the  Long 
Island  Sound.  It  is  said  this  house  was  built  by  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Whitfield,  who  led  the  settlers  there,  and  was  the  first  minister 
at  Guilford. 


MISS    PIATT'S    LILY. 
Liliorhiza  Piattana — Kellogg. 


BY   DE.  A.  KELLOGG. 


The  new  species  of  pseudo  lily,  here  figured,  p.  292,  has  been 
placed  by  authors  with  the  checkered  lily  family,  or  Guinea-hen 
flowers  (genus  Fritillaria.)  Of  this  genus,  we  have  several  species 
in  the  State  of  California,  one  of  which,  the  F.  recurva,  we  think, 
cannot  be  equaled  in  the  known  world.  Were  it  not  an  egre- 
gious offence  to  our  beau  ideal  of  the  beautiful,  we  might  be  in- 
duced to  attempt  an  outline  illustration.  Nothing  short,  how- 
ever, of  a  colored  lithograph  could  do  it  the  simplest  justice. 
Our  gardeners  and  florists  will  excuse  us,  if  we  beseech  them  in 
the  most  earnest  manner,  to  lose  no  time  in  the  culture  of  this 
valuable  native  bulb. 

The  genus  Liliorhiza,  (Kellogg,)  is  allied  to  Lilhm,  Amhlireon, 
and  Fritillaria. 

A  Lilium  in  its  clustered,  thick-scaled  root,  the  flower  stem 
also  growing  up  from  below,  at  the  base,  or  between  the  thick- 
ened bulboid  scales.  It,  however,  differs  from  Lilium  in  the  form 
of  its  flower,  also  in  its  anthers,  and,  sometimes,  of  its  pistil, 
but  the  L.  superbum  (?)  of  California,  which  we  have  had  many 
years  in  cultivation,  has  a  style  with  the  stigma  often  three- 
parted,  from  a  quarter  to  usually  half  an  inch  in  depth.  This 
species,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  figure,  has  the  stigma  only  slight- 
ly three-lobed,  in  which  respect,  the  genuine  description  requires 
correction.  It  differs  from  Amblirion  chiefly  in  the  ovary  and 
style.  From  Fritillaria,  as  stated,  in  the  origin  of  the  stem,  which 
instead  of  springing  from  the  top  of  a  solid  bulb,  starts  up  from 
below,  the  form  of  the  flower,  striate  diverging  veins  of  the  pe- 
tals, which  are  never  checkered  ;  and  the  different  position  of 
the  nectariferous  cavity,  when  present,  etc. 

Technical  Description.- — Stem  short,  nearly  smooth  ;  one,  or 
more,  flowers  ;  four  to  six  inches  in  height ;  leaves  canceolate, 
sub-acute,  striate-veined,  or  six  to  eight-nerved  ;  puberulent,  or 


miss  piatt's  lilt.  297 


rarely  here  and  there  a  scattering  hair ;  margins  minutely  scab- 
rous ;  leaves  half  to  three-fourths  of  an  inch  wide,  and  about 
three  inches  long;  whorled  or  sub-whorled  below,  alternate 
above  ;  flowers  erect  or  sub-erect ;  in  general  outline  obconic, 
narrowed  at  the  base ;  purplish  pink  color ;  the  outer  sepals 
deeper  pink,  narrower,  more  lanceolate,  sub-acute,  points  papil- 
lose bearded  ;  inner  petals  oblanceolate  obtuse  ;  margins  scab- 
rous near  the  apex,  paler  ;  the  radiating  or  divergent  veins,  or 
nerves,  deeper  pink  ;  the  mid-vein  diffusely  reddish  shade  ;  the 
claws,  or  narrowed  base,  dark  red  or  purple  ;  short  papillose 
glandular  within,  nearly  smooth  externally  ;  style  slightly  longer 
than  the  stamens  ;  stigma,  sub-three-lobed  ;  alternate  stamens  a 
little  longer ;  filaments  rather  slender ;  embryo  capsule,  some- 
what obconic,  or  narrowed  at  the  base ;  sub-winged  or  ridged 
one  third  to  half  the  length  of  the  style. 

This  plant  is  certainly  better  entitled  to  the  specific  name  of 
Fritillaria  lanceolata  of  Hooker,  than  the  one  found  along  our 
coast.  We  have  had  this  bulb  under  culture  many  years,  but 
as  it  has  not  bloomed,  we  are  not  sufficiently  sure  that  it  may 
not  prove  another  species.  It,  evidently,  is  not  the  same  as  the 
coast  plant. 

The  specific  name  given  is  in  honor  of  Miss  Piatt,  to  whom 
we  are  indebted  for  many  very  elegant  and  tastefully  arranged 
flowers. 

Help  and  give  willingly,  when  you  have  anything,  and  think 
not  the  more  of  yourself ;  and  if  you  have  nothing,  keep  the  cup 
of  cold  water  always  at  home,  and  think  not  the  less  of  your 
self. 


The  slightest  emotion  of  disinterested  kindness  that  passes 
through  the  mind,  improves  and  refreshes  that  mind,  producing 
generous  thoughts  and  noble  feeling. 

i : 

A  really  independent  mind,  is  independent  of  its  own  in- 
herent self-will  and  prejudice,  and  is,  therefore,  both  open  to 
conviction,  and  candid  in  acknowledging  error. 


REMINISCENCES     OF     TRAVEL. 


BY   MES.    F.    H.    DAY. 


How  strangely  life-currents  blend  and  flow  into  one  another. 
For  three  days  we  had  sailed  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep,  the  mon- 
otony of  sea  life  undisturbed.  There  were  few  on  board  with 
whom  I  could  claim  even  a  passing  acquaintance,  and  none, 
perhaps,  in  whom  I  felt  any  particular  interest,  or  who  felt  any 
for  me.  True  I  had  from  time  to  time  observed  one  very  inter- 
esting, intelligent  face,  partially  hidden  by  the  demure  drab  bon- 
net, which  designated  her  as  one  of  the  society  of  Friends.  But 
no  glance  of  recognition  passed  between  us,  and  I  passsd  on  to 
my  lonely  room,  feeling  how  dependent  we  are  upon  human 
sympathy,  and  human  tenderness  for  a  great  part  of  our  happi- 
ness in  life. 

One  afternoon  I  sat  in  my  room,  sadly  ruminating  upon  the 
past,  when  suddenly  I  heard  a  hasty,  but  gentle  rap  at  my  door. 
I  instantly  obeyed  the  summons,  and  as  I  opened  the  door,  my 
Friend  of  the  drab  bonnet  stood  before  me  and  spake  in  this  wise : 

"  My  baby  is  sick,  and  I  came  to  ask  thee  which  thou  think- 
est  wisest,  to  pursue,  this  or  that  course  ?" 

My  motherly  sympathies  were  at  once  enlisted  ;  and  such 
wisdom  as  I  had  in  such  matters,  was  at  her  service.  After  a  day 
or  two,  the  little  one  gave  evidence  of  returning  health  ;  and 
the  mother,  relieved  somewhat  of  anxiety,  sought  to  while  away 
the  time,  by  reading  a  copy  of  the  Hesperian,  (a  few  copies  of 
which,  we  always  have  beside  us.)  In  a  short  time  she  returned 
with  the  Magazine  in  her  h#nd,  and  her  face  all  aglow  with 
delight. 

"  See  here  !  "  said  she,  "  I've  found  an  article*  from  the  pen 
of  an  old  friend  of  mine — a  most  gifted  genius,  Hannah  Lloyd  by 
name — when  I  knew  her,  now,  Mrs.  Neale,  and  oh  !"  she  contin- 
ued, "  I  can  tell  thee  so  much  of  interest  connected  with  that 
excellent  family." 

Of  course  I  was  glad  to  find  a  heart  beating  so  warmly  in 

*The  Old  Round  Tower  at  Newport,  R.  I.,  By  Mrs.  Jas.  Neale. 


REMINISCENCES  OF   TEAVEL.  299 

sympathy  with  one  of  the  Hesperian  family,  and  lent  a  willing 
ear,  and  undivided  attention  to  what  the  good  Friend  had  to  say. 
As  it  was  not  exactly  of  a  private  nature,  and  believing  as  I  do, 
that  all  such  histories  belong  to  the  world,  I  shall  try  to  give,  as 
near  as  possible,  what  I  received  from  the  lips  of  my  Friend,  on 
board  of  the  steamship  "  Golden  Age" — surely  a  Golden  Age  to 
me,  when  I  can  gather,  without  effort,  such  rich  reminiscences  of 
America's  sons  and  daughters,  and  have  the  otherwise  tedious 
hours  of  ocean  travel,  enlivened  by  such  earnest,  and  beautiful 
recitations.  The  lad}^  recited  with  much  power  and  artistic  grace 
both  prose  and  poetry,  and  in  listening  to  her  voice,  and  the 
beautiful  sentiments  expressed,  I  almost  forgot  the  unpleasant- 
ness of  sea  life,  and  my  absence  from  long  familiar  scenes,  and 
dearly  loved  associations. 

"  Thou  must  know,  to  begin  with,"  said  our  Friend,  "  that 
Philadelphia  used  to  be  my  home,  as  it  was'also  the  home  of 
Hannah  Lloyd,  and  her  family,  and  all  the  memories  of  my  early 
life  are  more  or  less  associated  with  this  most  gifted  and  talented 
family,  every  member  of  which  has  some  pleasing  and  special 
endowment." 

"Hannah,  and  one  of  her  sisters,  Elizabeth,  were  gifted  with 
the  Poetic  temperament  in  ,a  high  degree,  and  often  has  my  soul 
reveled  in  the  rich  beauty  of  their  poetic  creations,  and  grown 
stronger  as  it  followed  them  in  their  flight  into  the  realms  of  In- 
spiration ;  and  more  devout,  and  submissive,  as  I  listened  to  their 
words  of  high  and  holy  trust.  Among  others  of  those  memoirs 
is  a  little  poem  written  by  Hannah,  (now  Mrs.  Jas.  Neale,)  let  me 
recite  it.     It  is  called  : 

C  AKDIPHO'NI  A.  * 


If  the  hard  heart  must  be  smitten,  ere  the  springs  of  life  can  flow, 
As  the  waters  locked  in  Horeb,  gushed  beneath  the  prophet's  blow, 
If  the  veil  before  the  temple,  where  our  idols  are  enshrined, 
Must  be  rent  in  twain,  to  teach  us  we  are  weak,  and  frail,  and  blind; 
If  the  whirlwind  and  the  fire,  must  the  still  small  voice  precede, 
Wakening  in  our  souls  the  echo — Earth  is  but  a  failing  reed  ; 
If  the  waves  which  overwhelm  us  may  not  in  their  wrath  be  stayed  ; 
Grant  us  still  to  feel,  oh  !  Father ;  "  It  is  I — be  not  afraid." 

*  The  meaning  of  the  word  "  Carcliphonia,"  being  "  utterance  of  the  heart." 


300 


THE   HESPERIAN. 


If  beside  our  household  altars  we  grow  weary  of  our  trust, 
If  the  wing  of  faith  is  broken,  and  her  pinions  trail  in  dust ; 
If  we  faint  beneath  our  burdens,  as  we  vainly  question  why, 
All  our  springs  of  consolation,  and  our  wells  of  hope  are  dry? 
If  our  cup  from  Marah's  fountain,  be  replenished  o'er  and  o'er, 
Till  the  dregs  are  drops  of  bitter,  eartli  has  not  a  solace   for ; 
Though  our  strength  be  born  of  suffering — though  our  hearts  be  sore  dis- 
mayed, 
Oh!  sustain  us  with  thy  presence — "  It  is  I — be  not  afraid." 

If  our  pleasant  pictures  fading,  leave  a  back-ground  of  despair, 

Let  a  ray  of  light  from  Heaven,  beam  upon  the  darkness  there, 

As  in  some  old  time-worn  painting  which  the  dust  has  gathered  o'er, 

Light  discloses  to  the  gazer,  beauty  all  unseen  before  ; 

So  the  bright  rays  piercing  downwards,  through  the  mist  which  round  us 

lies, 
May  illume  Life's  darkened  canvass,  and  reveal  before  our  eyes, 
Glimpses  sweet  of  pleasant  waters,  where  our  footsteps  shall  be  stayed, 
As  we  hearken  to-the  whisper — "  It  is  I — be  not  afraid." 
It  may  be  the  spirit  strengthens,  and  the  soul  grows  pure  and  white, 
When  the  clouds  of  sorrow  darken,  and  all  starless  is  the  night; 
That  within  their  gloom  is  gathered,  gentle  and  refreshing  rain, 
Every  little  germ  of  patience,  quickening  into  life  again  ! 
But  we  fain  would  come  before  Thee,  ere  the  evil  days  draw  nigh, 
Ere  the  sun  and  moon  are  darkened,  or  the  clouds  are  in  our  sky  ; 
While  life's  silver  cord  is  binding  us  to  gladness  and  to  mirth, 
And  its  golden  bowl  is  filling,  from  the  choicest  founts  of  earth. 
While  the  fragrance  and  the  beauty  of  our  morning  round  us  lies, 
We  would,  of  the  heart's  libation,  pour  to  Thee  a  sacrifice  ; 
Trustful  that  the  hand  that  scatters,  blessings  every  morning  new, 
Would  refill  the  urn  of  offering,  as  a  floweret  with  the  dew ; 
Pure  and  sweet  the  exhalations  from  a  grateful  heart  to  heaven, 
Unto  Thee,  then  be  the  incense  of  our  Cardiphonia  given, 
Ere  the  noon-tide  sun  shall  wither,  or  the  gathering  twilight  hour, 
Closes  the  out-pouring  chalice  of  the  morn's  expanded  flower. 

"  There,  dost  thou  not  think  it  beautiful  ?"  said  our  Friend. 
"  It  has  done  me  good  to  recite  it.  Is  there  not  the  breathing 
there  of  every  attribute  which  should  belong  to  woman  ? — Hu- 
mility, Trust,  Confidence,  Devotion — and  now  in  the  far  off  land 
of  California,  doubtless  the  author  has  found  her  need  of  all  of 
these,  and  for  the  good  that  she  has  done  to  others,  I  pray  that 
she  may  be  always  within  hearing  of  that  voice, — \  It  is  I — be 
not  afraid.' " 

The  neatly  folded  handkerchief  was  pressed  for  a  moment  in 


REMINISCENCES    OF    TRAVEL.  301 

silence  to  the  eyes  of  our  Friend,  and  then  she  continued : — 
"  Some  years  ago,  Elizabeth,  the  sister  of  Hannah,  wrote  a  Poem 
on  Milton's  blindness.  It  was  published  in  a  journal  in  Phila- 
delphia. By  some  means  a  cop}7"  of  it  was  carried  to  Europe, 
and  when  a  new  edition  of  Milton's  poems,  called  the  '  Oxford 
Edition,'  was  published,  this  poem  written  by  Elizabeth  Lloyd, 
was  inserted  as  one  of  Milfoil's,  the  publishers  believing  it  to  be 
so.  The  authorship  was  afterwards  proved  by  the  Quaker  jour- 
nal called  \  The  Friend',  in  which  it  first  appeared.  What  higher 
compliment  could  have  been  paid  to  an  author  ?  or  what  higher 
could  Europe  have  paid  to  American  literature  ?  I  will  recite  it 
to  you.     It  is  entitled 

MILTON'S     PRAYER    OF    PATIENCE. 


I  am  old  and  blind  ! 

Men  point  at  me,  as  smitten  by  God's  frown ; 

Afflicted,  and  deserted  of  my  kind, 

Yet  am  I  not  cast  down. 

I  am  weak,  yet  strong ; 

I  murmur  not  that  I  no  longer  see ; — 

Poor,  old.  and  helpless,  I  the  more  belong, 

Father,  Supreme  !  to  Thee. 

Ail  merciful  One ! 

When  men  are  farthest,  then  art  Thou  most  near, 

When  friends  pass  by,  my  weaknesses  to  shun, 

Thy  chariot  I  hear. 

Thy  glorious  face 

Is  leaning  towards  me,  and  its  holy  light 

Shines  in  upon  my  dwelling  place — 

And  there  is  no  more  night. 

On  my  bended  knee, 

I  recognize  Thy  purpose,  clearly  shown  ; 

My  vision  Thou  hast  dimmed,  that  I  may  see 

Thyself— Thyself  alone. 

I  have  nought  to  fear — 

This  darkness  is  the  shadow  of  thy  wing  ; 

Beneath  it  I  am  almost  sacred — here 

Can  eome  no  evil  thing. 

Oh  !  I  seem  to  stand 

Trembling,  where  foot  of  mortal  ne'er  hath  been, 

Wrapped  in  that  radiance  from  the  sinless  land, 

Which  eye  hath  never  seen. 


302  THE    HESPERIAN. 


Visions  come  and  go, 

Shapes  of  resplendent  beauty  round  me  throng; 

From  angel  lips  I  seem  to  hear  the  flow 

Of  soft  and  holy  song. 

In  a  purer  clime, 

My  being  fills  with  rapture — waves  of  thought 
Eoll  in  upon  my  spirit — strains  sublime 
Break  over  me  unsought. 

Give  me  now  my  lyre! 
I  feel  the  stirrings  of  a  gift  divine — 
Within  my  bosom  glows  unearthly  fire, 
Lit  by  no  skill  of  mine." 

"There,"  said  our  Friend,  as  she  pronounced  the  last  stanza. 
"  Dost  thou  wonder  that  they  credited  that  to  the  Immortal 
Bard  himself?  I  rejoice  in  its  spirit,  in  its  submissive,  heavenly, 
devotional  sentiment,  and  I  am  proud  of  it,  as  an  American  pro- 
duction." 

Other  beautiful  things  also,  did  the  good  Quaker  lady  recite 
to  us — her  memory  seemed  to  be  a  very  store-house  of  poetical 
gems.  But  the  limits  of  this  article  will  not  allow  us  to  give 
more.  We  have  given  enough  to  show  the  estimation  in  which 
some,  at  least,  of  our  California  talent  is  appreciated  abroad,  and 
here  we  should  say  that  the  lady  above  mentioned,  was  not  a 
California!!,  but  was  returning  from  a  visit  to  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  to  her  home  in  the  far  west. 

When  we  think  that  such  talent  as  the  author  of  "  Cardipho- 
nia"  possesses,  is  quietly  sleeping  in  California,  not  only  in  her 
case,  but  in  that  of  others  whom  we  might  name,  both  men  and 
women,  because  California  offers  them  no  incentive  to  labor,  not 
even  the  stimuli  necessary  to  excite  them  to  brief  spasmodic 
action,  we  feel  sick,  we  feel  discouraged,  almost  disgusted. 
Consider  how  much  talent  lays  latent  in  California,  how  poor 
our  State  literature  is,  to  what  it  ought  to  be,  to  what  it  would 
be,  if  the  talent  now  unrecognized,  and  unappreciated,  were 
called  into  action  and  remunerated. 

Think  how  many  gems  might  illuminate  our  literary  horizon, 
were  they  but  encouraged  to  show  their  light  amid  the  thick 
darkness  which  surrounds  them. 


MEMORIES    OF   OTHER   DAYS. 


BY  ANNA  K.  H.  FADEK. 


Those  tall  old  trees !  those  grand  old  trees  ! 
See  them  careering  in  the  breeze, 

Then  lift  their  heads  in  air ! 
They  have  no  master,  hard  to  please, 

And  not  a  pain  or  care. 

Those  summer  clouds  !  those  summer  clouds  ! 
How  their  majestic  grandeur  shrouds 

The  warmly  smiling  blue, 
While  oft',  between  their  pearly  crowds, 

The  sun-beams  sparkle  through  ! 

They're  floating  through  the  skies  again, 
They're  floating  o'er  my  home,  the  same 

As  in  the  days  of  old, 
But  care  and  anguish,  death  and  pain, 

Can  make  young  feelings  cold. 

Oh,  thus  in  childhood's  earlier  years, 
Before  my  soul  was  stained  with  fears, 

I've  gazed  on  such  a  scene, 
But  now,  alas  !  cold  sorrow's  tears 

Have  dim'd  that  childhood's  slieen. 

Oh  sweep,  oh  sweep  those  chords  again, 
That  thrilled  my  soul  so  wildly,  when 

My  heart  was  light  and  gay  ; 
Unheeding  child,  I  dream'd  not  then, 

So  soon  'twould  pass  away. 

But  it  has  passed !    no  more,  no  more. 
Those  tones  shall  sweep  my  heart-strings  o'er, 

As  when  a  love-blest  child, 
Ere  pain  had  wrung  my  spirit's  core, 

They  tranced  my  feelings  wild  ! 

And  now  I  almost  wonder  how, 
My  heart  to  joy  can  ever  bow, 

Or  smiles  can  wreathe  my  lips, 
So  darkly  often,  even  now, 

I  feel  the  cold  eclipse  ! 


304  THE   HESPERIAN. 


I'm  lonely  in  these  summer  bowers, 

Though  clouds,  and  winds,  and  trees  and  flowers, 

Are  glorious  as  of  yore, 
I  feel,  I  know,  the  heart's  lost  hours, 

Can  come  on  earth  no  more  ! 

San  Francisco,  August,  1862. 


THE    WHITE    SLAVES    OF    LONDON. 


The   Times  thus  sketches  the  scenes  of  misery  which  exist  in  the 
most  fashionable  quarters  of  luxurious  London  :' 

"  The  young  female  slaves  of  whom  we  speak,  are  worked  by 
gangs,  in  ill-ventilated  rooms,  or  rooms  that  are  not  ventilated 
at  all,  for  it  is  found  by  experience,  that  if  air  be  admitted,  it 
brings  with  it  "  blacks"  of  another  kind,  which  damage  the  work 
upon  which  the  seamstress  is  employed.  Their  occupation  is,  to 
sew  from  morning  till  night,  and  night,  till  morning — stitch, 
stitch,  stitch,  without  speech — without  a  smile — without  a  sigh. 
In  the  gray  of  the  morning,  they  must  be  at  work — say  at  six 
o'clock,  having  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  allowed,  for  breaking  their 
fast.  The  food,  served  oat  to  them,  is  scanty,  and  miserable 
enough,  but  still,  in  all  probability,  more  than  their  fevered  sys- 
tem, Can  digest.  From  six  o'clock  then,  till  eleven,  it  is  stitch, 
stitch.  At  eleven,  a  small  piece  of  dry  bread,  is  served  to  each 
seamstress — but  still  she  must  stitch  on.  At  one  o'clock,  twen- 
ty minutes  are  allowed,  for  dinner — a  slice  of  meat,  and  a  potato, 
with  a  glass  of  toast  and  water,  to  each  work  woman.  Then 
again,  to  work — stitch — stitch,  stitch — until  five  o'clock,  when 
fifteen  minutes,  are  again  allowed,  for  tea.  Their  needles  are 
then  set, in  motion  once  more-1— stitch,  stitch — until  nine  o'clock, 
when  fifteen  minutes,  are  allowed  for  supper — a  piece  of  dry 
bread,  and  cheese,  and  a  glass  of  beer.  From  nine  o'clock  at 
night,  until  one,  two,  and  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  stitch — 
stitch !  the  only  break  in  this  long  period,  being  a  minute  or  two 
— just  time  enough  to  swallow  a  cup  of  strong  tea,  which  is 
supplied,  lest  the  young  people  should  "  feel  sleepy."     At  three. 


THE    WHITE    SLAVES    OF   LONDON.  305 

o'clock  A.  M. — to  bed  ;  at  six  o'clock  A.  M.,  out  of  it,  again  to 
resume  the  duties  of  the  day.  There  must  be  a  good  deal  of 
monotony,  in  the  occupation.  But  when  we  have  said,  that  for 
certain  months  of  the  year,  these  unfortunate  young  persons  are 
worked  in  the  manner  we  describe,  we  have  not  said  all.  Even 
during  the  few  hours,  allotted  to  sleep, — should  we  not  rather 
say,  to  a  feverish  cessation  from  toil  ? — their  miseries  continue. 
They  are  cooped  up  in  sleeping-pens,  ten  in  a  room,  which  would 
perhaps,  be  sufficient,  for  the  accommodation  of  two,  persons. 
The  alteration  is  from  the  treadmill — and  what  a  treadmill !  to 
the  Black  Hole  of  Calcutta  !  Not  a  word  of  remonstrance  is 
allowed,  or  is  possible.  The  seamstress  may  leave,  the  mill,  no 
doubt,  but  what  awaits  them,  on  the  other  side  of  the  door? 
Starvation,  if  they  are  honest — if  not,  in  all  probability,  prosti- 
tution and  its  consequences." 


In  France  women  sell  railway  tickets,  keep  books,  act  as 
librarians,  make  watches,  set  jewels,  engrave  copy  paintings, 
and  chisel  marble. 


The  Human  Voice. — The  influence  of  the  temper  upon  tone 
deserves  much  consideration.  Habits  of  querulousness  or  ill 
nature  will  communicate  a  cat-like  quality  to  the  singing,  as  in- 
fallibly as  they  give  a  peculiar  quality  to  the  speaking,  or  voice. 
That  there  really  exist  amiable  tones,  is  not  an  unfounded  opin- 
ion. In  the  voice  there  is  no  deception  ;  it  is  to  many,  the  index 
of  the  mind,  denoting  moral  qualities.  The  low,  soft  tones  of 
gentle  amiable  beings,  whatever  their  musical  endowments  may 
be,  seldom  fail  to  please. 

MErit  is  often  an  obstacle  to  a  person's  rise  in  the  world  :  be- 
cause it  is  always  productive  of  two  bad  effects  ;  viz. :  envy  and 
fear.  Envy  in  those  who  cannot  hope  to  rise  ;  and  fear  in  those 
who  are  established,  and  who  dread  to  advance  a  person,  possess- 
ed of  greater  abilities  and  merit  than  themselves,  lest  he  should 
supplant  them.  Therefore,  a  man's  being  neglected  is  no  mask 
of  demerit. 


THAT     SILENT     MOON 


BY   THE   EEV.    G.    W.   DOANE. 


That  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon, 
Careering  now  through  cloudless  sky, 

Oh  !  who  shall  tell  what  varied  scenes 
Have  passed  beneath  her  placid  eye, 

Since  first  to  light  this  wayward  earth, 

She  walked  in  traquil  beauty  forth. 

How  oft  has  guilt's  unhallowed  hand, 
And  superstition's  senseless  rite, 

And  loud,  licentious  revelry, 

Profaned  her  pure  and  holy  light : 

Small  sympathy  is  hers,  I  ween, 

With  sights  like  these,  that  virgin  queen. 

Dispersed  along  the  world's  wide  way, 
When  friends  are  far,  and  fond  ones  rove, 

How  powerful  she  to  wake  the  tboughts, 
And  start  the  tear  for  those  we  love! 

Who  watch,  with  us,  at  night's  pale  noon, 

And  gaze  upon  that  silent  moon. 

How  powerful,  too,  to  heart's  that  mourn, 
.   The  magic  of  that  moon  lit  sky, 
To  bring  again  the  vanish'd  scenes, 
The  happy  eves  of  days  gone  by; 
Again  to  bring,  'mid  bursting  tears, 
The  loved,  the  lost,  of  other  years. 

And  oft  she  looks,  that  silent  moon, 
On  lonely  eyes  that  wake  to  weep, 

In  dungeon  dark,  or  sacred  cell, 

Or  couch,  whence  pain  has  banished  sleep 

Oh  softly  beams  that  gentle  eye, 

On  those  who  mourn,  and  those  who  die. 

The  dewy  morn  let  others  love, 
Or  bask  them  in  the  noontide  ray  ; 

There's  not  an  hour  but  has  its  charm, 
From  dawning  light,  to  dying  day — 

But  oh  !  be  mine  a  fairer  boon — 

That  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon. 


BOY'S  JACKET. 
The  above,  is  a  full-sized  Pattern  of  a  Jacket  for  a  Boy,  to  be  worn  with  the 
Pants,  given  in  last  number.  Can  be  made  of  Merino  or  Cloth,  and  braided  by 
hand  or  machine.  Should  be  lined  with  light  muslin.  Trimmings  on  sleeve  to 
go  up  on  the  seam.  The  medallions,  for  additional  trimmings,  should  have  a 
small  silk  button  in  the  centre.     Fastened  at  the  neck  with  Button  and  Loop. 


GRECIAN  APRON. 

This  is  a  charming  apron  for  a  miss,  and  is 
made  in  black  silk.  It  is  surrounded  by  a 
flounce,  or  frill,  of  the  same,  headed  by  a  tuffed 
velvet  trimming.  The  pockets  are  trimmed 
with  bows  and  ends,  and  full  straps,  edged  with 
narrow  black  lace,  are  crossed  in  front  in  Gre- 
cian style,  and  finished  with  bows  upon  the 
shoulders. 


THE   PARISIENNE. 

This  is  a  charming  model  for  a  high  corsage, 
with  a  tucked  chemisette  of  a  new  style-  The 
material  is  laid  in  folds  at  the  shoulder  and 
gathered  into  the  band  at  the  waist,  the  chemi- 
sette being  clearly  defined  by  a  narrow  quilling, 
which  also  finishes  it  at  the  neck.  The  sleeve 
consists  of  side  caps,  connected  with  a  strap 
over  the  full  centre,  which  the  band  fofms  into 
puffs. 


BRAID  PATTERN  FOR  SLIPPER. 


y 

SIDE  PATTERN  FOR  SLIPPER. 


it  m  in  ft  m  tff  <f  ft  0  &****♦ 


BONNETS. 

Black  straw  is  much  worn — trimmed  with  scarlet  or  maize,  curtain  black 
— bound  with  velvet  to  match  trimming.  The  face  trimmings — braids  or  bows 
of  velvet,  and  flowers.  Black  and  wbite  Neapolitan,  and  Satin  straw  are  both 
considered  recherche. 

■     SEEEVES. 

A  very  handsome  sleeve,  is  the  Diana,  made  of  silk,  or  silk  and  wool  mix- 
tures, now  so  much  in  vogue.  The  fullness  is  divided  into  puffs  at  the  top  by 
narrow  straps  of  braid  or  gimp.  Bound  the  bottom  double  volants,  pinked  on 
the  edge,  and  laid  in  festoons,  with  a  heading  of  gimp .  Flat  bows  of  silk  or 
ribbon  without  ends,  of  the  same  or  contrasting  color. 

BODIES. 

Plain  waist,  with  revers  collar.  Points  coming  down  halfway,  of  the  waist. 
The  lower  part  of  the  waist  buttons  up  to  meet  the  points  of  the  collar. 


THE  PIONEEB  ESTABLISHMENT  OF  MR.  AND  MBS.  NOECROSS. 


Located  (almost  from  the  commencement  of  our  city's  history)  on  Sacra- 
mento street,  has  been  recently  removed  to  the  Masonic  Temple  on  Mont- 
gomery street, — a  representation  of  which  is  given  on  one  of  the  advertising 
pages  of  this  Number.  We  notice  this  establishment  at  this  time,  more  par- 
ticularly for  the  benefit  of  Strangers.  To  Ladies  who  may  have  started  on  a 
journey  unexpectedly,  without  time  for  preparation,  or  coming  from  a  quarter 
where  it  was  expedient  to  take  as  little  baggage  as  possible — we  would  say — 
just  step  into  the  rooms  of  Mrs.  Norcross,  and  you  will  find  every  Article, 
needed  in  a  Ladies'  Wardrobe,  embroidered,  or  plain — Not  machine,  but  hand 
sewing — and  in  a  style,  to  suit  the  Purse,  as  well  as  the  Taste,  of  the.purchaser. 


<&&H»x'»  ®abl«. 


,  ANNOUNCEMENT. 

Since  the  departure  of  our  esteemed  friend  and  co-worker,  Mrs.  F.  H.  Day, 
(former  Editor  of  the  Hesperian,)  we  have  found  the  duties,  attending  the 
management  of  a  Magazine  of  a  very  arduous  nature  ;  and  feeling  the  neces- 
sity of  assistance — we  take  pleasure  in  announcing  to  the  friends  and  subscri- 
bers of  the  Hesperian,  that  we  have  made  arrangements  with  the  Rev.  J.  D. 
Strong,  who  will  hereafter  be  associated  with  us,  as  Editor  and  Proprietor  of 
the  Magazine.  In  the  conduction  of  a  "  Monthly"  such  as  we  desire  and  in- 
tend the  "  Hesperian"  to  become,  much  labor  is  necessary,  and  of  an  amount, 
too  great  for  one  person  to  perform.  The  known  literary  ability,  sterling  in- 
tegrity, and  persevering  industry  of  the  Gentleman  above  named,  will,  we 
feel,  be  a  sufficient  guarantee  to  the  patrons  of  the  "  Pioneer  California 
Monthly,"  that  in  the  future,  as  in  the  past,  no  effort  will  be  spared,  to  make 
each  issue,  of  a  character  to  compare  favorably,  with  any  Magazine  in  the  old 
.or  new  world. 


Acknowledgment, — We  are  again  indebted  to  the  Hon.  T.  G.  Phelps, 
M.  C,  for  Public  Documents.  A  volume  of  Patent  Office  Keports,  (Agricul- 
tural) has  been  received. 


GEN.  JOHN  A.  SUTTER 
It  is  with  great  pleasure,  that  we  publish  the  following  resolutions  emanating 
from  the  "  Society  of  California  Pioneers."  We  could  add  pages  in  behalf  of 
the  object  were  it  necessary — but  we  feel  sure  that  the  heart  of  every  Cali- 
fornian  will  vibrate  with  gladness — for  the  privilege  of  expressing  their  ap- 
preciation, of  the  generous,  noble-minded,  old  Gentleman.  As  a  People,  we 
owe  Gen.  Sutter.  Probably,  there  is  no  other  individual  to  whom  we  are  so 
much  indebted;  let  us  manifest  our  gratitude,  by  liberal  contributions  to  a  fund 
for  his  benefit. 

"  SUTTER  PIONEER  TESTIMONIAL  FUND. 

At  a  Meeting  of  the  Society  of  California  Pioneers,  held  to  celebrate  the 
Twelvth  Anniversary  of  the  Admission  of  California  into  the  Union — 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  address  of  E.  H.  Washburn,  Esq.,  Dr.  Henry  M. 
Gray  remarked  that  as  there  was  an  unusually  large  number  of  the  Society 
present,  it  was  a  fitting  time  to  consider  informally  some  important  suggestions 
embodied  in  the  remarks  of  the  orator  of  the  evening. 

That  portion  of  the  address  having  direct  reference  to  General  John  A. 
Sutter,  then  elicited  an  interesting  discussion.  Mr.  Sam.  Branuan  then  gave 
an  account  of  a  recent  visit  to  the  old  Pioneer,  and  others  warmly  advocated 


editor's  table.  311 


the  adoption  of  immediate  measures  for  his  relief.  H.  F.  Williams  offered  a 
series  of  resolutions  to  this  effect,  to  which  some  ameudments  were  proposed. 
Subsequently  the  Society  appointed  Mr.  Williams,  Dr.  Gray,  W.  B.  Farwell 
and  Rev.  Albert  Williams,  a  committee  to  revise  the  same,  who  reported  the 
following,  which  were  unanimously  adopted  : 

Whereas,  The  Society  of  California  Pioneers  are  desirous  of  presenting 
to  General  John  A.  Sutter  a  substantial  mark  of  their  gratitude  to  him  for  his 
many  good  and  charitable  deeds  towards  the  early  settlers  of  the  State,  and  of 
the  esteem  in  which  he  is  held  by  his  fellow-citizens  at  large ;  therefore, 

Resolved,  That  a  Committee,  consisting  of  all  the  Ex-Presidents  of  our 
Society,  be,  and  the  same  are  hereby  constituted  a  Committee  to  take  the  mat- 
ter in  charge,  to  appoint  sub-Committees,  and  prepare  subscription  papers,  to 
be  circulated  for  contributions  to  a  fund  to  be  judiciously  invested  for  the  ben- 
efit of  Gen.  John  A.  Sutter. 

Resolved,  That  the  President,  Secretary,  and  Treasurer  ol  this  Society, 
and  their  successors  in  office,  be,  and  the  same  are  hereby,  constituted  a  Board 
of  Trustees,  to  receive  and  invest  all  funds  which  may  be  received  in  further- 
ance of  this  object. 

Resolved,  That  copies  of  these  resolutions  be  forwarded  to  all  the  newspaper 
Editors  in  the  State,  with  the  request  that  they  will  publish  the  same,  and  urge 
upon  their  readers  the  propriety  of  contributing  something  in  aid  of  this  fund." 


As  we  have  received  "  Reminiscences  of  Travel,"  from  our  co-worker,  Mrs. 
F.  H.  Day,  with  accompanying  Articles  of  interest,  we  shall  refrain  from 
occupying  much  space  in  the  Editorial — referring  briefly,  to  a  highly  interest- 
ing Book — by  Rev.  John  Gumming — "God  in  Histoey — God  in  Science." 
"  God  is  in  history — forgiving,  neutralizing,  and  over-ruling,  and  soon  about 
to  come  forth  to  extirpate  the  evil  that  is  in  the  world.  '  God  was  manifest  in 
the  flesh.'  God  is  manifest  in  providence.  God  is  in  history — not  in  its  long 
chapters,  and  absent  from  its  short — not  in  stirring  electric  revolutions  only; 
but  in  its  tiny  turnings,  its  microscopic  incidents — in  the  fall  of  an  apple  before 
the  eye  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton — in  the  twitching  of  a  frog's  nerve  on  the  iron 
spit  in  the  hand  of  a  Galvani — in  the  light  of  its  lowly  firesides,  and  in  the 
blaze  of  Alexandria,  ofEphesus,  and  Constantinople."  One  is  impressed  with 
the  fervid  eloquence,  force  of  diction,  and  expansive  views  of  the  Author — to 
him,  creation,  providence,  and  revelation  are  all  of  One,  and  to  One,  who  is 
God  over  all.     We  recommend  it  to  our  readers  for  perusal,  as  being  a  Book 

for  ike  age. 

E.  T.  S. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  TRAVEL,  No.  2. 

Panama  is  an  Indian  name,  signifying  "  many  fish,"  and  was  so  called,  on 

account  of  the  numerous  fish  abounding  in  its  bay  and  surrounding  waters. 

This  city  presents  an  ancient  and  imposing  appearance,  calculated  to  arrest 

the  attention  of  the  traveler,  and  stimulate  inquiry  into  the  history  of  that 


312  THE   HESPERIAN. 


part,  which  has  left  behind  it  so  many  interesting  legacies.  Perhaps  there  are 
few  places  on  the  earth,  where  the  mind  may  better  indulge  in  contemplation, 
than  this  city  of  crumbling  walls  and  tottering  churches  ;  of  mingled  barbar- 
ism and  civilization. 

In  all  parts  of  the  city,  may  be  seen,  tall  spires  of  decaying  Cathedrals. 
Moss-grown,  and  ivy-covered,  they  still  stand  like  sentinals,  upon  the  Ram- 
parts of  Time,  at  once  challenging  the  mind  to  the  study  of  the  dim  ages 
gone,  and  pointing  it  to  that  heaven,  whose  light  suffers  no  diminution  by 
time,  but  which  is,  as  ready,  to  pour  out  its  beams  upon  us  now,  while  we 
survey  these  mighty  ruins,  as  it  was  ages  ago,  upon  those  whose  minds  con- 
ceived, and  whose  hands  reared,  the  massive  structures'.  All  of  these  churches, 
and  there  are  many  of  them,  are  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Order,  and  were  built 
with  much  expense  and  in  a  style  which  would  do  credit  to  more  modern  ar- 
chitecture. But  they  are  falling  into  ruins  ;  the  old  forms  are  decaying  ;  the 
foundations  are  assailed  ;  the  roofs  are  tumbling  in  ;  the  light  of  heaven  is 
streaming  through  crack  and  crevice,  dispelling  the  sombre  shadows,  and 
shedding  gentle  illumination  over  all  within,  gilding,"with  a  new  radiance,  the 
Altar  and  the  manifold  emblems  there. 

May  it  not  be  significant  of  the  light  of  that  Truth  which  illumines  the 
mind,  and  lifts  it  above  the  hollow  observance  of  outward  forms  and  cere- 
monies, to  spiritual  communion  with  that  God,  who  has  said,  "  I  am  a  spirit, 
and  they  that  worship  me,  must  worship  me  in  spirit  and  in  truth." 

The  city  of  Panama  appears  much  more  ancient  than  it  really  is,  from  the 
effect  of  the  climate.  Even  stone  and  granite  are  mildewed  and  discolored, 
by  the  alternating  hfiat  and  rain — the  native  wood  also  decays  very  fast,  and 
is  subject  to  being  eaten  and  destroyed  by  the  millions  of  insect  tribes  in  which 
the  country  abounds. 

Many  of  the  native  ladies  are  very  beautiful  ;  and  the  children  we  have 
never  seen  surpassed.  Possessing  exquisilely  fair  complexions,  dark  lustrous 
eyes,  teeth  of  ivory  whiteness,  and  forms  of  more  than  ordinary  grace  and 
beauty,  they  win  the  admiration  of  all  beholders. 

We  like  Panama,  and  yet  we  think  its  climate  might  be  improved  by  a 
whiff  or  two  of  our  San  Francisco  breeze,  now  and  then.  If  some  enterpris- 
ing Yankee  could  only  hit  upon  a  plan,  by  which  some  portion  of  the  invigor- 
ating gales  of  our  own  favored  land  could  be  imported  thither,  methinks  he 
might  make  quite  a  "  speck/'1 

However,  it  is  not  alone  the  physical  climate  of  a  place  by  which  we  are 
influenced,  and  from  which  we  make  up  our  estimate  of  appreciation  or  other- 
wise. We  are  as  much  affected  by  the  moral  and  mental  atmosphere  which 
surrounds  us,  as  by  the  air  we  breathe  ;  and  it  is  from  this,  in  a  great  measure, 
that  our  conclusions  are  drawn  and  judgments  formed,  though  we  may  not  be 
aware  of  it  at  the  time. 

That  place  is  agreeable  to  us,  where  we  find  hearts  beating  in  uuison  with 
our  own,  where  our  aspirations  are  understood,  our  thoughts  and  feelings 
rightly  interpreted,  and  our  motives  properly  estimated.     No  matter  what  the 


editor's  table.  313 


clime  may  be.       Siberian  snows  cannot  chill  the  heart's  warm  impulses,  nor 
tropic  suns  scorch  or  wither  the  glowing  sentiments  of  the  soul. 

Therefore,  we  like  Panama,  for,  besides  her  own  children,  for  some  of 
whom  we  have  the  highest  regard,  she  has  gathered  to  her  sheltering  bosom, 
many  of  different  lands  and  climes,  whose  qualifications  and  attainments  fit 
them  to  adorn  any  society.  Here,  we  found  some  of  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  our  beloved  America,  among  whom  was  Col.  A.  K.  McKee,  United  States 
Consul  at  this  place — a  Kentuckian  by  birth,  and  one  of  America's  most 
loyal  and  noble  sons.  His  cheerful  face,  and  genial,  sparkling  humor,  diffuses 
happiness  upon  all  who  come  within  the  sphere  of  his  influence,  Speaking  of 
him,  a  gentleman  of  Panama  remarked  in  our  hearing,  "  He  is  the  right  man 
in  the  right  place."  "Would  that  all  our  public  offices  were  filled  with  men 
as  well  qualified,  as  true,  and  faithful  as  Col.  McKee.  Ever  will  his  kindly 
tones,  and  words  of  encouragement  live  in  our  memory  aud  cheer  our  on- 
ward way. 

Long  may  he,  and  all  such  noble  sons,  he  spared  to  America,  and  long 
may  she  enfold  them  within  the  wide  folds  of  her  ample  banner-. 

The  Panama  Eailroad. — We  come  now  to  speak  of  one  of  the  most 
gigantic  of  all  human  enterprises,  a  work,  the  magnitude  of  which,  few  can 
comprehend,  and  a  still  less  number  properly  appreciate. 

It  is  forty-eight  miles  in  length,  reaching  from  Aspinwall  to  Panama,  .and 
was  built  at  a  cost  of  life  and  money,  which  seems  almost  fabulous.  It  is  as- 
serted, that  for  every  mile  of  the  road  was  sacrificed  a  thousand  lives,  so  that 
forty-eight  thousand  lives  were  lost  in  bringing  this  great  work  to  completion. 
In  these,  were  represented  every  kindred,  clime,  and  people,  as  if  it  were 
meet  that  a  highway  wbich  was  to  accommodate  all  nations,  should,  receive 
her  quota  of  sacrifice  from  each.  They  fell,  mostly,  victims  to  the  climate, 
(which  at  that  time  was  but  little  understood,)  and,  doubtless,  the  fear  and 
terror  which  many  experienced,  overcame  them,  and  prepared  them  for  the 
reception  of  disease,  in  some  one  of  the  many  forms,  which  there  awaited 
them.  Cholera  glutted  itself  on  fresh  victims  every  day,  and  Panama  fever 
slew  its  thousands,  and  tens  of  thousauds.  Again  and  again  were  the  works 
depopulated,  and  left  without  laborers  to  carry  them  on  ;  aud  again  and  again 
did  the  enterprising  contractors  fill  up  the  ranks,  and  shout  the  watch-word 
forward. 

In  the  greatness  of  its  accomplishment,  this  work  may  vie  with  the  gigan- 
tic labors  of  the  Pharaoh's,  and  in  comparison  to  it,  the  building  of  the,  Mah- 
moudich  Canal,  sinks  into  insignificance.  To  all  who  remember  the  transit 
of  the  Isthmus,  as  it  was  before  the  completion  of  this  road,  its  dangers  and 
difficulties,  its  trials  and  sufferings,  the  projectors  and  contractors  of  the  Pan- 
ama railroad  must  ever  appear  as  public  benefactors. 

Scenery  on  the  Isthmus.— On  the  line  of  the  Panama  railroad,  the 
grandeur  and  beauty  of  the  rich  forests,  the  luxurient  vegetation,  everywhere 
apparent,  the  gorgeous  flowers,  which  meet  the  eye  at  every  turn,  the  rich 
plumage  of  the  birds,  their  endless  variety,  and  the  multitude  of  interesting 


314 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


insect  tribes  which  surround  us,  the  strange  appearance  of  the  natives  and 
the  country,  just  now  emerging  from  barbarism  to  civilization,  the  contrast 
between  their  primitive  huts  and  the  modern  cars,  their  startled  look  of  in- 
quiry, as  aroused  from  their  habitual  repose  by  the  approaching,  train,  and 
watcbiug  it  as  it  goes  thundering  on  its  way,  (they  wonder,  doubtless,  what 
the  Yankees  will  bring  on  next,)  all  these  combined  fill  the  mind  of  the  trav- 
eler with  interest.  The  telegraph  poles  present  the  appearance  of  solid  col- 
umns of  granite.  The  company  found  it  impossible  to  keep  the  wires  sup- 
ported by  the  use  of  ordinary  wooden  poles,  as  they  decay  so  fast.  Hence 
the  invention  of  what  seems  to  be  solid  granite  columns,  but  which  is,  in  fact, 
a  sort  of  mineral  cement,  which  now,  after  the  lapse  of  three  years,  is  found 
to  be  as  good  as  when  first  put  into  use. 

We  were  informed  by  a  Young  American,  who  has  been  on  the  Isthmus 
some  years,  that  the  rapid  decomposition  of  the  various  woods  there,  might  be 
effectually  prevented  by  being  particular  to  cut  them  when  the  moon  was  from 
twenty  to  twenty-five  days  old. 

Why  will  wood,  cut  at  this  particular  period  of  the  moon,  not  decay,  when 
that  cut  at  any  other  time,  will  ?  Here  is  a  question  for  philosophers,  and  we 
want  the  answer.  That  the,  moon  does  exert  a  powerful  influence  on  many 
things,  we  know,  and  if  it  really  be  that  the  rich  woods  in  which  the  Isthmus 
abounds,  as  rosewood,  lignumvitee,  mahogany,  and  others,  may  be  preserved 
by  the  knowledge  of  a  fact  so  simple,  it  seems  as  if  it  might  be  worthy  the  in- 
vestigation of  philosophic  and  scientific  minds. 

Of  the  many  beautiful  flowers  in  which  the  Isthmus  abounds,  we  should  be 
glad  to  speak  at  length,  but  time  and  space  forbid.  That  of  the  orchis  fam- 
ily, familiarly  known  as  the  "  Espiritu  Santo,"  particularly  attracted  our  at- 
tention. Its  blossom,  which  is  of  an  alabaster  whiteness,  approaches  the  tulip 
in  form,  and  yields  a  powerful  perfume,  somewhat  resembling  that  of  the 
magnolia.  But  not  in  the  graceful  beauty  of  its  form,  nor  in  the  exquisite 
purity  of  its  color,  nor  yet  in  its  delicious  fragrance,  is  it  most  esteemed. 
Within  the  cup  of  the  flower  rests  the  prone  image  of  a  dove  ;  so  marvelou  si 
formed,  that  the  most  consummate  skill  could  not  excel  the  resemblance. 

Its  exquisite  and  delicately  shaped  pinions  hang  lifeless  from  its  sides,  the 
gentle  head  bends  meekly  forward,  and  the  tiny  bill,  tipped  with  a  delicate 
carmine,  almost  rests  upon  its  snow  white  breast.  The  expression  of  the  en- 
tire image,  (and  it  requires  no  stretch  of  imagination  to  see  the  expression,) 
is  the  very  iucarnation  of  meekness  and  etherial  innocence. 

No  one  looking  on  this  flower,  can  wonder  that  the  early  Spanish  Catholic 
Fathers,  ever  on  the  alert  as  they  were  for  something  upon  which  to  fasten 
the  idea  of  a  miraculous  origin,  should  have  bowed  down  before  this  matchless 
flower,  and  named  it  "  Flor  del  Espiritu  Santo,"  the  Flower  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

This  plant  is  found  most  frequently  in  low  and  marshy  grounds,  springing 
from  decayed  logs  and  crevices  in  the  rocks.  It  sometimes  attains  a  height  of 
six  or  seven  feet.  The  leaf-stalks  are  jointed,  and  throw  out  broad  lanceo- 
late leaves  by  pairs ;  the  flower  stalks  spring  from  the  bulb,  and  are  wholly 


editor's  table.  315 


destitute  of  leaves,  yet  often  bearing  a  cluster  of  twelve  or  fifteen  flowers.     It 
is  an  annual,  blooming  in  July,  August,  and  September. 

In  former  times,  the  bulbs  could  rarely  be  obtained,  and  then  only  with 
difficulty  and  labor;  but  since  their  localities  have  become  familiar  to  the 
daring  and  irreverent  Anglo-Saxon,  numbers  have  been  gathered  and  dis- 
tributed to  different  parts  of  the  world,  though  their  habits  and  necessities 
have  been  so  little  understood,  that  they  were  seldom  brought  to  flower.  It  is 
said,  that  if  they  were  procured  in  May  or  June,  after  the  flower  stalk  has 
started,  when  sufficient  nutriment  resides  in  the  bulb  to  develop  the  perfect 
flower,  they  can  safely  be  transplanted,  and  will  flower  under  the  ordinary 
treatment  given  to  bulbous  plants  of  colder  climes. 

Among  the  ornithological  curiosities  of  this  place,  the  naturalists'  para- 
dise, is  the  Towcan — a  dark  scarlet-breasted  bird,  about  the  size  of  a  pigeon, 
with  a  heavy  sereated  bill,  six  or  seven  inches  in  length.  It  picks  up  its  food 
on  the  point  of  its  long  beak,  and,  by  a  sudden  jerk,  tosses  it  up  half  a  yard 
or  more,  and,  as  it  falls,  catches  it  deep  in  its  throat.  It  also  makes  extraor- 
dinary motions  over  the  water,  when  attempting  to  drink.  The  Spanish- 
American  priests  asserted,  that  this  bird,  in  drinking,  makes  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  hence  they  named  it  "  Dios  te  de,"  "  God  Gives  it  Thee." 

How  rich  and  beautiful  is  this  place,  and  what  interesting  volumes  will  yet 
be  compiled  from  the  depths  of  its  vast  treasuries.  But  the  shrill  whistle  an- 
nounces that  we  have  "  crossed  the  Isthmus."  Can  it  be  !  What  a  contrast 
is  this  bright  flowery  path,  over  which  we  seem  to  have  flown,  with  the  one  so 
wearily  traversed  a  few  years  ago  amid  difficulties  and  dangers  truly  appaling. 

Soon  we  shall  be  rocking  once  more  on  the  bosom  of  the  mighty  deep. 
But  there  are  sweet  memories  in  our  heart ;  and  as  the  fragrance  of  the  flow- 
ers yet  lingers  about  us,  so  will  the  rich  aroma  of  friendship  poured  upon  us 
from  warm  hearts  here,  exhale  its  fragrance  and  distils  its  perfume,  like  dewy 
blessings  o'er  our  dim  future, 

Awaking  bright  visions  of  the  past  and  gone. 
When  we,  perchance,  shall  wonder  sad  and  lone, 
Without  the  sound  of  one  familiar  tone, 
Or  ought,  save  Memory,  to  feed  upon. 

Aspinwall  Hotel. — We  cannot  take  our  final  leave  of  Panama  until 
we  have,  for  the  benefit  and  encouragement  of  travelers,  assured  them  that  at 
the  Aspinwall  Hotel  they  will  find  a  comfortable  home  for  themselves  and  lit- 
tle ones.  The  rooms  are  large  and  airy,  and  the  table  well  supplied  with  ev- 
ery luxury  that  the  most  fastidious  palate  can  demand. 

While  the  proprietor,  Monsieur  Daignoux,  spares  no  pains  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  his  guests,  he  is  warmly  aided  and  seconded  by  the  gentlemanly 
and  obliging  clerk,  Mr.  L.  S.  Bethancourt,  whose  kindly  disposition  and  ur- 
bane manners,  renders  him  a  favorite  with  all  who  know  him.  Mr.  B.  is  one 
of  our  own  countrymen,  and  possesses  the  advantage  of  speaking  several  Ian- 


316  THE    HESPERIAN. 


guages,  which  to  the  traveler  unacquainted  with  the  various  languages  here 
spoken,  will  be  quite  an  advantage. 

On  Board  Ship  Nokth  Star. — Our  heart  was  made  glad,  by  meeting 
with  several  California  friends.  Among  them  was  Col.  Rosse,  the  inventor  of 
the  new  cavalry  gun,  which  is  at  present  attracting  so  much  attention.  But 
we  succeeded  in  obtaining  from  the  Colonel,  something  in  which  we  feel  more 
interest,  than  in  any  death-dealing  instrument,  be  it  ever  so  ingenious.  Some- 
thing too,  which  proves,  that  beneath  the  soldier's  uniform,  i3  warmly  glowing 
the  refined  sentiments,  and  sensibilities,  of  the  Poet.  How  many  a  heart  in 
California  will  beat  in  sympathy  with  the  author,  as  they  read  these  touching 
lines,  which  we  obtained  from  the  Soldier  Poet,  Colonel  Eosse. 


MY  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME. 


How  my  heart  still  clings  to  my  childhood's  home, 
Though  from  hence  my  feet  must  forever  roam, — 
For  Memory  comes  with  a  gathering  throng, 
Of  garnered  hopes  that  are  faded  a"nd  gone. 

How  sweet  is  the  dream  of  our  childhood's  hour, 
"When  hope  paints  the  future  with  magic  power, — 
Ere  sorrow  hath  stricken  the  heart  that  was  light, 
And  the  sunshine  of  youth  is  cloudless  and  bright. 

I  know  the  way  to  each  leafy  shade, 
Each  murmuring  rill  and  each  flowery  glade  ; — 
I  know  where  the  violet  blooms  in  the  spring, — 
The  rocks  where  the  moss  and  the  ivy  cling. 

Each  leaf  and  each  twig  hath  a  voice  for  me, 
And  the  sombre  shade  of  the  evergreen  tree  ; 
For  a  shadowy  form  is  pressing  the  sod, 
Where  the  feet  of  a  sister  have  often  trod. 

'Twas  chilly  and  drear  an  October  day, 
When  the  leaves  were  fading  and  passing  away, 
That  we  laid  her  down  in  her  earthy  bed, 
Softly  and  gently,  to  sleep  with  the  dead. 

Then  chide  me  not  if  a  tear-drop  falls, 

As  I  bid  farewell  to  those  ancient  walls  ; 

For  my  heart  still  clings  to  my  childhood's  home, — 

My  feet  would  linger,  ere  from  it  I  roam. 

On  board  the  "  North  Star,"  we  met  Dr.  Trask,  the  well  known  Scientist 
of  California,  who  was  on  his  way  to  Washington,  to  take  his  place  as  Surgeon 
in  one  of  the  Northern  armies.     Who  that  has  never  wandered  from  the  fa- 


EDITOR  S   TABLE. 


317 


miliar  faces  and  scenes  of  home,  can  fully  realize  how  pleasant  it  is,  when  afar 
from  those  loved  scenes,  to  recognize,  and  be  recognized  by  old  companions 
and  friends — there  is  a  depth  of  enjoyment,  an  exultation  of  spirit,  which  must 
be  experienced,  to  be  properly  appreciated.  Particularly  is  this  the  case,  in 
regard  to  California's.  There  is  a  warmth,  and  depth,  a  genuine  kearii, 
ness  in  the  real  California  heart,  be  it  male  or  female,  which  we  seldom  find 
elsewhere.  Perhaps  we  are  partial.  But  if  so,  is  it  not  pardonable  partiality  ? 
At  Panama  we  met  a  lady  and  gentleman  returning  to  California,  after  a  two 
years  absence  in  England.  The  lady,  who  had  never  seen  me  before,  recog- 
nized me  as  a  Californian,  and  grasping  my  hand  warmly,  called  me  "  Sister," 
saying,  "  Tell  me  of  my  home  !  How  is  California  affected  by  this  war  ?  Oh  ! 
1  feel  almost  home,  now  that  I  can  look  upon  the  face  of  a  Sister  Californian 
once  more — this  is  the  happiest  hour  that  I  have  known  since  I  left  that  be- 
loved home."  And  this  lady  ;  kind  readers,  is  an  English  woman  by  birth. 
Before  this  meets  your  eye,  she  will  have  returned  to  her  place  among  you, 
and  we  trust,  found  that  warm  welcome  which  she  so§well  deserves,  and  which 
her  noble  heart  is  so  capable  of  responding  to. 

Oh  !  that  Californians  might  always  so  conduct  themselves,  that  others  ob- 
serving them,  may  exclaim — "Behold  these  Californians  how  they  love  one 
another!"  Yours  truly, 

Mrs.  F.  H.  Day. 


MISS  ALDRICH'S  FEMALE  SEMINARY  AND  GYMNASIUM. 

STEVENSON  STREET,  NEAR  SECOND. 


The  examinations  of  this  popular  institution,  at  the  close  of  the  Summer 
Term,  were  of  a  high  order.  Miss  Aldrich  has  been  successful  in  securing 
Teachers  of  superior  merit,  the  result  of  which,  was  manifested  to  a  gratified 
Audience  in  the  recitation  rooms,  on  the  ninth  and  tenth  of  this  Month.  There 
are  three  Departments,  Eclectic,  Practical  and  Primary.  The  Eclectic  is 
conducted  by  Prof.  W.  J.  G-.  Williams,  A.  M.  Prof.  Williams  is  a  Graduate 
of  McGill  College — and  having  passed  nine  years  in  a  celebrated  University 
in  Paris,  excels  as  a  Linguist.  Miss  Green,  an  experienced  Instructress  in 
the  Model  schools  in  New  England — has  charge  of  the  Practical  Department. 
The  Primary,  is  under  the  supervision  of  Miss  Prescort,  who  is  one  of  the  few, 
who  know  how  to  teach,  in  a  department  of  this  character. 

The  Principal  of  the  Seminary,  (Miss  Aldrich)  who  is  extensively,  and 
favorably,  known  as  a  Teacher, — both  here,  and  in  the  Atlantic  States — con- 
siders the  Physical  training  of  her  Pupils,  essential  to  secure  a  full,  mental 
development,  and  the  Gymnasium  connected  with  the  establishment,  receives 
her  particular  attention. 


CONTENTS  OF  VOL.  8,  ENDING  OCTOBER,  1862. 


PAGE. 

Patterns 1 

Music — "  Memory's  Echo," 2-3 

Pitcher  Plants  4 

The  North  American  Indians 5 

Poems 19 

The  Testimony  of  Man's  Sentiment 

touching  the  Bank  of  Woman..  20 

Little  Frank 28 

Reminiscences     of    John    Phoenix, 

Esq.,  the  veritable  "  Squibob."  30 

Viscissitudes 35 

"War — Its  Moral  Aspect 35 

Love's  Theft 40 

Pitcher  Plants i 41 

Editor's  Table 45 

Patterns 49 

Soft  Arnica 50 

The  North  American  Indians 51 

Soft  Arnica G2 

Ta3    nfant  Angel 64 

All  is  Good  and  Beautiful 65 

To  Mrs.  B ,  71 

A  Legend  of  the  Old  Round  Tower..  72 

A  Mother's  Love 83 

The  Testimony  of  Man's  Sentiment 

touching  the  Rank  of  Woman..  85 

Summary  of  Fashion ■  90 

Editor's  Table 92 

Patterns 98 

The  North  American  Indians 99 

LightOut  of  Darkness 110 

The  Testimony  of  Man's  Sentiments 

touching  the  Rank  of  Woman..lll 

O  Leave  me  in  the  Morning 118 

The  Poor  Girl  and  the  Angels 119 

Little  Bessie 125 

The  Cheap  Dress  Maker 127 

The  Lifting  of  the  Veil ...137 

Summary  of  Fashion 139 

Editor's  Table 141 

Patterns , 145 

Lilliputian  Lily ,  146 

Capital  Punishment 147 

Imprisonment  for  Debt..." 152 

The  Cbeap  Dress  Maker 154 

To  "A  Lady  Friend" 162 

The  Lilliputian  Lily 163 


PAGE. 

Music 165 

Scientific  Notices 166 

The  Nobleness  of  Woman 167 

Workis  Worship 173 

Sketches     of    My    Grandmother's 

Neighbors  ..." 178 

Angel  Visits 186 

Summary  of  Fashion 187 

Editor's  Table .188 

Literary  Notices  and  Reviews...- 191 

Span-Long  Bracted  Bind-Weed  193 

Corn-Bindweed 194 

Climate  on  Phthisis  Pulmonalis 195 

No  Sect  in  Heaven 199 

The  Origin  of  War 202 

My  Harp , 204 

Ruth  May 205 

The  Better  Gift 212 

Native  Jalap 214 

The  Musician's  Last  Hour 217 

Mrs.  Griscom's  Legacy 219 

Flowers 229 

Sketches     of    My     Grandmother's 

Neighbors, ' 231 

Patterns 239,  240,  241 

Remarkable  Providence 242 

Life 248 

Summary  of  Fashion ; 249 

Editor's  Table 250 

A  Defense  of  the  Oppressed, 255 

The  Poet, 261 

Revolutionai-y  Reminiscences, 262 

March  of  Freedom,  266 

Ruth  May, 269 

The  Acres  and  the  Hands,  279 

Sketches     of    My     Grandmother's 

Neighbors, 281 

Two  Pictures, 288 

Poison  Oak  and  its  Antidotes 293 

Miss  Piatt's  Lily, '. 296 

Reminiscences  of  Travel, 298 

Memories  of  other  Days, 303 

The  White  Slaves  of  London, 304 

That  Silent  Moon,  306 

Patterns,  307,308 

Summary  of  Fashion 309 

Editor's  Table,  310 


MRS.    PIATT'S    REDWOOD    VIOLET 


'H.  >   "-^  '^~  \  ,- "■  \r-  {/7- 


DORR'S    ALPINE    PURSLANE, 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


Vol.  IX.]  NOVEMBER,  1862.  [No.  1. 


DOER'S    NEW   ALPINE   PURSLANE. 


{Spraguea  paniculata) — [Kellogg.] 


BY  DR.  A.  KELLOGG. 


We  are  indebted  to  Mr.  C.  H.  Dorr  for  the  discovery  of  a  new  spe- 
cies of  Spraguea,  recently  brought  by  him  from  Nevada  Territory, 
besides  many  other  new  and  exceedingly  interesting  plants  which  we 
hope  soon  to  introduce  to  the  attention  of  our  readers.  These  plants 
of  the  purslane  family  are  very  interesting  to  the  scientific  world  as 
well  as  to  the  florists.  Spraguea  Umbellata,  upon  which  Dr.  Torrey 
instituted  the  genus,  is  often  highly  rose-colored  and  ornamental ; 
several  specimens  of  these  were  also  in  the  collection.  Spraguea  pa- 
niculata (Kellogg)  is,  however,  readily  distinguished  from  the  original 
species  by  the  flowers  being  paniculate  instead  of  umbellate  ;  the 
stems,  also,  are  decumbent,  or  curved  downwards,  and  lying  flat  upon 
the  ground.  They  are  short,  seldom  three  inches  in  hight,  condensed 
into  a  symmetrical  cluster,  usually  describing  as  complete  a  segment 
of  a  circle,  as  if  swept  or  drawn  by  a  compass ;  the  stems  are  truly 
leafy,  and  radiating  from  the  center  like  spokes  in  a  wheel ;  the 
leaves,  also,  are  rosulate,  and  relatively  much  larger,  thick  succulent 
very  minutely  villous ;  the  whole  dense  mass  at  length  melting  into 
an  excretory,  gelatinous,  watery  envelope.  The  roots  are  very  short 
and  fibrous,  and,  like  the  leaves,  disproportionate  ;  besides,  the  leaves 
are  three-nerved.  As  alpine  plants  are  less  variable  in  their  habits, 
it  affords  a  strong  presumption  that  this  relative  development  is  uni- 
form and  normal. 

The  collector  is  a  gentleman  of  intelligent  observation  ;  we  there- 
fore place  much  reliance  upon  his  convictions  as  to  its  relative  habit, 


322  THE    HESPEKIAJST. 

formed  while  viewing  it  in  the  growing  state.  He  remarks  : — "  The 
new  Spraguea  is  altogether  different  in  its  form  and  tints.  I  have 
seen  it  in  one  locality  only,  viz.,  a  ravine  extending  to  the  west,  situ- 
ated about  six  miles  from  Virginia  City,  Nevada  Territory.  The 
stream  on  which  this  new  plant  was  found,  runs  through  the  above 
ravine  into  the  valley  of  Steamboat  Hot  Springs,  and  to  the  great 
valley  of  the  Truckee  Meadows.  Along  the  banks  of  this  stream  is 
a  continued  incrustation  of  alkali.  Altitude  about  five  thousand  feet. 
Flowering  in  May  and  June." 

The  bracts  appear  to  be  obovate  ;  the  rounded  or  notched  calyx 
scales  on  stemlets,  the  broad,  greenish  midrib  often  pink  colored  ; 
the  stamens  more  elongated.  The  oblong  and  pink  anthers  render 
it  rather  ornamental. 


THE     BEDWOOD     VIOLET. 


( Viola  sequoiensis) — [Kellogg.] 


BY  DR.  A.  KELLOGG. 


This  appears  to  be  a  new  species  of  violet,  closely  allied  to  V.  Lo- 
lata  (of  Bentham) ;  but  that  is  described  as  smooth.  Ours  has 
roughish  and  also  pubescent  leaves — the  stipules  and  bracts  also  dif- 
fer ;  nor  are  the  lateral  petals  beardless,  etc. 

The  specimen  was  sent  us  by  Mrs.  Piatt,  a  resident  of  the  vicinity 
of  Marysville.  It  abounds  in  the  redwood*  forests  of  the  Sierra  Ne- 
vada mountains.  We  have  specimens  also  from  Nevada  City,  ob- 
tained at  an  elevation  of  about  3,000  feet.  It  has  large  yellow  flow- 
ers, with  the  two  upper  petals  turning  purple  on  the  back,  which  is 
smooth ;  in  some  specimens  we  find  them  also  deep  purple  in  front 
— the  lower  petals  with  dark,  purple  veins  at  the  base.  The  leaves 
are  very  pretty  ;  open  and  artless  as  an  infant's  hand.  The  Figure 
itself  will  sufficiently  illustrate  the  details  :  it  will  be  seen  the  mar- 
gins of  the  leaves  are  both  scabrous  and  pubescent,  while  the  points 
are  tipped  with  a  large  gland. 

We  consider  this  as  one  of  our  handsomest  California  Violets. 

*  Sequoia  Sempervirens. 


CRATERS   OF   THE    HAWAIIAN   ISLANDS 


BY  REV.  J.  D.  STEONG. 


Of  the  hundreds  of  craters  on  the  Sandwich  Islands,  Mauna  Loa, 
on  Howaii,  now  furnishes  the  only  active  ones.  In  the  midst  of  a 
nearly  level  plain,  on  its  eastern  slope,  four  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea,  is  Kilauea,  constantly  in  action,  having  never  been 
quiescent  within  the  traditionary  period.  The  summit  of  the  mount- 
ain, at  an  elevation  of  nearly  fourteen  thousand  feet,  and  twenty  miles 
or  more  from  Kilauea,  terminates  in  an  immense  crater,  several  miles 
in  diameter,  and  very  deep,  from  which  smoke  and  gases  frequently 
issue,  but  which  otherwise  shows  no  signs  of  activity.  The  interior 
of  the  mountain,  however,  is  a  mass  of  molten  rock,  heated  to  such 
a  degree  as  to  be  "  dark  with  excessive  bright."  At  intervals  of 
three  or  four,  or  more  years,  its  eastern,  northern  and  western  sides, 
near  the  summit,  are  rent  open,  and  pour  forth  burning  floods,  which 
reach  from  their  lofty  seat  above  the  clouds  to  the  sea.  Nearly  all 
Hawaii,  the  largest  island  of  the  group,  is  made  up  of  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  these  lava-flows  piled  one  upon  another,  thus  forming 
mountain  peaks  nearly  three  miles  high.  The  flows,  which  now 
form  the  surface,  can  be  traced  in  all  directions,  and  their  respective 
periods  are  determined  by  the  various  ages  of  the  timber  growing  on 
them,  from  the  sapling  up  to  the  venerable  forest-monarch.  On 
first  issuing  from  their  burning  bed,  their  course  is  rapid,  and  their 
hue  white  with  heat  too  intense  for  language  to  describe  ;  but  by 
exposure  to  the  air  their  surface  is  cooled  over,  while  the  molten 
mass  within  presses  its  way  on  down  to  a  lower  level,  forming  long, 
hollow  tubes,  or  ducts,  sometimes  hundreds  of  feet  in  diameter,  which 
reach  from  the  summit  to  the  sea,  and  render  Hawaii  one  vast  honey- 
comb of  rock.  On  the  sides  of  precipices,  hundreds  of  these  subter- 
ranean passages  are  sometimes  seen  cropping  out  within  a  short  space, 
giving  it  exactly  the  appearance  of  a  honey-comb  after  the  honey  is 
extracted.     These  out-croppings  form  caves,  in  which  the  natives 


324  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

formerly  buried  their  dead,  or  hid  themselves  in  time  of  war.  It  was 
common  for  them  to  pass  in  these  caverns  for  miles,  from  one  part 
of  the  island  to  another.  During  eruptions,  these  passages  are  often 
filled  with  steam,  gases,  and  hot  air,  and  burst  open  with  a  report  as 
loud  as  a  hundred  cannons,  hurling  pieces  of  broken  rock  in  all  direc- 
tions, with  such  force  as  to  render  the  visitor's  life  nearly  as  insecure 
as  it  would  be  on  the  battle-field.  During  the  eruption  of  1855,  a 
gentleman  now  residing  in  this  city,  carried  away  with  the  sublimity 
of  the  scene,  remained  two  days  and  nights  in  a  locality  where  these 
explosions  were  occurring  every  few  minutes.  In  journeying  around 
Hawaii,  every  now  and  then  the  rider's  horse  will  slump  through  the 
rotten  crust  which  forms  the  roof  of  these  subterranean  passages,  or 
suddenly  stumble  on  a  yawning  cavern  made  by  the  falling  in  of  a 
larger  section  of  the  rocky  crust,  while  his  feet  awaken  long  and 
frightful  echoes  as  of  subterranean  thunder. 

Within  ten  years  past  three  eruptions  have  occurred  on  Mauna 
Loa,  viz.,  in  1352,  1855,  and  1858,  from  its  eastern,  northern  and 
western  sides.  Each  of  these  eruptions  was  from  huge  fissures  opened 
for  miles  up  and  down  the  mountain.  At  first,  for  several  days  the 
lava  was  shot  up  in  immense  jets,  like  a  fountain,  five  hundred  feet 
or  more  in  diameter,  and  at  least  a  thousand  feet  high,  turning  night 
into  day  all  over  the  island,  and  rendering  the  finest  print  legible  at 
a  distance  of  forty  or  fifty  miles.  It  then  rushed  down  the  steep  de- 
clivity with  a  speed  equal  to  that  of  the  fastest  rail-car,  till  finally 
reaching  a  space  comparatively  level,  it  worked  its  way  on  slowly  to 
the  sea.  The  eruption  of  1858,  after  flowing  thirty-five  miles,  burn- 
ing up  the  forests,  drinking  up  the  rivers,  and  forming  grand  and 
beautiful  cascades — one  of  which  was  deeper  and  wider  than  Niagara 
— finally  emptied  itself  into  the  ocean  on  the  western  side  of  the 
island,  where  it  filled  up  a  large  bay. 

After  running  ten  miles  down  the  steep  sides  of  Mauna  Loa,  with 
a  velocity  almost  incredible,  the  lava  stream  of  1855  formed  into  a 
lake  two  miles  across,  which  boiled  like  a  pot  for  months.  The  lake 
frequently  filled  up  and  overflowed,  thus  widening  and  extending  its 
walls  till  they  became  nine  miles  in  diameter.  From  this  reservoir 
of  molten  rock,  the  fiery  stream  flowed  slowly  on  for  more  than  a  year, 
to  within  four  miles  of  Hilo,  where,  without  encountering  any  obsta- 
cle, and  from  no  other  apparent  cause,  it  suddenly  ceased  to  flow  in 
that  direction,  and  began  to  spread  itself  out  and  pile  itself  up  for 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  325 

miles  along  its  backward  track.  The  object  of  this  article  is  to  give 
the  reader  an  account  of  a  visit  made  from  Hilo  to  this  magnificent 
scene  ten  months  after  the  eruption  first  occurred  on  the  mountains. 
The  first  mile  of  our  way  was  smooth,  over  what  appeared  to  be 
a  luxuriant  soil,  and  we  galloped  on  with  merry  hearts — all  the  more 
merry  in  anticipation  of  the  adventures  which,  by-and-by,  the  rough- 
ness of  our  path  promised  to  afford.  We  then  passed  through  a 
region  of  rocks  and  gullies,  where  the  peculiar  formations — the  unmis- 
takeable  wrinkles  and  ridges  of  flowing  lava — could  be  distinctly 
traced  on  the  old  streams,  even  under  the  soil  and  in  the  heaviest 
forests.  After  two  miles  of  travel  over  a  trail  rougher  than  the  rough- 
est Indian  trail  of  British  Columbia,  we  entered  the  strip  of  grand 
old  forest  which  belts  nearly  the  whole  island.  The  trees  were  from 
one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  hight,  covered  all  over 
with  splendid  red  blossoms ;  and  among  them  were  crowded  innumer- 
able creepers  and  climbers,  wild  bananas,  and  gigantic  ferns,  forming 
a  mass  so  dense  that  even  a  squirrel  could  not  pass.  Through  this 
impenetrable  wall  of  vegetation,  a  few  enterprising  men,  under  the 
leadership  of  the  "King  of  the  Volcano,"  (as  the  Rev.  Mr.  Coan  is 
sometimes  called,)  had  cut,  or  rather  half  cut,  the  narrow,  crooked 
trail  through  the  jungle.  It  ran  up  and  down,  over  places  rougher 
than  roughness  itself,  across  deep  gullies,  over  the  trunks  of  fallen 
trees,  and  under  projecting  limbs,  which  the  rider  must  dodge  with 
dexterity  if  he  would  escape  being  dragged  from  his  saddle.  Occa- 
sionally our  horses  would  plunge  two  or  three  feet  deep  into  the  soft 
mud,  the  bottom  of  which  was  so  interlaced  with  roots  as  sometimes 
to  hold  their  feet  fast.  Next,  they  must  climb  up  a  high  ridge  of 
rocks,  then  clamber  down  some  deep  chasm,  or  struggle  over  the 
huge  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  so  large  that  they  would  often  hang- 
astride  of  it  for  several  minutes,  without  being  able  to  effect  a  pass- 
age either  forwards  or  backwards.  Thus  we  slowly  passed  on,  expect- 
ing every  moment  that  our  horses  would  either  break  their  legs,  or 
plunge  us  headlong  into  the  dark  and  rocky  jungle  ;  but  they  had 
been  long  trained  to  such  traveling-,  and  moved  on  with  such  dex- 
terity as  to  astonish  us  by  their  skill  in  getting  over  tough  places. 
Two  miles  of  such  traveling  brought  us  to  so  rough  a  place  that  our 
boldest  riders  gave  up  all  hope  of  getting  our  animals  further.  Thus 
far  we  had  come  safely.  Twice  only  were  any  of  our  company  un- 
horsed, but  not  seriously  hurt.     We  now  pressed  forward  on  foot, 


326  THE    HESPERIAN. 

wading  through  deep  mud,  scrambling  over  huge  roots,  jumping 
from  rock  to  rock,  walking  along  the  fallen  trunks  of  half-decayed 
trees — the  undergrowth  all  the  way  on  either  hand  being  too  dense 
to  allow  us  to  depart  from  the  narrow  trail.  We  could  not  even  see 
out,  except  toward  the  sky.  Meanwhile  the  rain  poured  down  in 
torrents  ;  and  the  scene  which  we  presented,  especially  that  of  our 
ladies,  was  certainly  as  amusing,  if  not  as  Quixotic,  as  ever  entered 
the  brain  of  Cervantes.  A  half  mile  over  this  interesting  route  brought 
us  to  the  edge  of  the  lava  stream,  which  stretched  away  sixty-five 
miles  up  to  its  source  on  the  mountains,  and  was  from  three  to  ten 
miles  wide.  Providing  ourselves  with  long,  heavy  canes,  we  mounted 
this  black,  distorted,  broken  river  of  rock. 

To  one  who  has  never  seen  flowing  lava,  the  form  and  condition 
of  the  scene  now  before  us  would  seem  impossible  and  incredible. 
No  language  in  my  power  can  convey  an  adequate  impression  of  its 
strange  and  unearthly  appearance.  It  was  unlike  any  thing  I  had 
ever  seen  or  imagined  to  be  the  product  of  rock  or  fire.  Before  my 
visit  I  had  expected  to  find  its  surface,  like  ice  on  a  frozen  river, 
nearly  level ;  but  it  was  rolled  and  twisted,  distorted  and  piled  up, 
in  an  endless  variety  of  shapes.  Not  a  level  place  three  feet  square 
could  be  found.  The  only  thing  to  which  it  could  be  likened  would 
be  the  ocean  lashed  into  fury  by  one  of  the  fiercest  winds  that  blow, 
suddenly  petrified  in  all  its  rolling,  broken  and  jagged  shapes,  and 
then  its  surface  broken,  and  twisted  and  pressed  up  by  some  mighty 
force  from  below.  Ragged  and  irregular  waves  of  rock,  of  all  shapes 
and  sizes,  from  one  hundred  feet  high  and  downwards,  were  scattered 
over  the  whole  surface  of  the  stream — their  black  crust  being  rent 
by  innumerable  cracks  and  fissures,  and  then  contorted  into  all  forms, 
and  tilted  up  at  all  angles,  even  to  a  perpendicular.  New  lava  bad 
oozed  up  through  them  from  below,  had  cooled,  and  was  then  cracked 
and  pressed  up  again  and  again  by  the  force  of  the  pent-up  and  strug- 
gling stream  beneath  the  hardened  surface.  Here  and  there  were 
immense  cracks  and  breathing  holes,  through  which  the  hot  air,  gases 
and  smoke  were  escaping. 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  we  passed  on  up  this  black  and  fearful 
stream,  jumping  over  deep  chasms,  climbing  up  the  sides  of  cracked 
and  broken  hillocks ;  then  cautiously  treading  our  way  down  deep 
declivities,  stepping  from  fragment  to  fragment  of  the  confused  mate- 
rial, sometimes  breaking  through  a  thin,  brittle  crust  which  lay  a  few 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  327 

inches  above  the  solid  rock ;  then  pounding  with  our  long  canes  to 
find  a  sure  footing,  and  all  the  way  treading  with  a  care  which  our 
subsequent  experience  taught  us  was  useless  in  this  locality,  lest  we 
should  break  entirely  through,  and  fail  into  the  burning  flood. 

After  proceeding  about  four  miles  in  this  way,  we  suddenly  came 
to  flowing  lava.  Here  we  paused  to  survey  as  sublime  and  fearful  a 
scene  as  is  ever  vouchsafed  to  mortals.  In  innumerable  places  around 
us,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  burning  floods  were  oozing  up  from 
below,  and  flowing  in  dull,  sluggish  streams  to  find  a  lower  level. 
The  flow  was  about  as  rapid  as  that  of  thick  syrup  from  a  faucet. 
The  lava  would  break  or  press  its  way  up  quietly  from  beneath,  in 
streams  from  a  few  inches  to  several  feet  wide,  aud  spread  itself  out 
and  flow  over  the  rocks  sometimes  for  twenty  feet  or  more,  when, 
suddenly  cooling  over,  it  would  remain  stationary  for  a  few  moments  ; 
but  the  pressure  increasing  again  from  below,  the  melted  mass  would 
soon  burst  up  anew,  aud  repeat  the  same  scene  over  and  over  again. 
By  this  constant  flowing,  and  upward  pressure,  the  elevations,  fissures 
and  contortions  which  I  have  described  above,  are  made. 

With  caution  there  is  no  danger  in  passing  around  among  these 
fires.     All  fear  of  danger  forsakes  the  visitor  the  moment  the  nature 
and  mode  of  these  operations  are  understood.     To  the  imagination 
they  are  indeed  frightful,  and  it  is  not  strange  that  the  first  sight  of 
them  should  fill  the  inexperienced  in  such  phenomena  with  terror. 
A  laughable  incident  is  related  of  a  brave  Commodore  in  the  Amer- 
ican Navy,  now  fighting  the  battles  of  his  country.     In  company 
with  several  ladies  and  gentlemen  from  Hilo,  he  had  started  on  a 
visit  of  inspection  to  this  great  rock  foundry  of  Pele.     He  met  all 
the  dangers  of  the  way  with  great  intrepidity,  and  seemed  very  fierce 
and  daring ;  but  the  moment  he  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  the  fiery 
flood,  and  saw  the  huge  red-hot  streams  of  flowing  lava,  and  the 
woods  on  fire,  the  courage  which  could  stand  without  winking  before 
shot  and  shell,  and  the  smell  of  saltpetre,  instantly  gave  way  before 
melted  rock  and  the  fumes  of  brimstone  and  gypsum.     Exclaiming, 
"This  is  an  unjustifiable  exposure  of  human  life,"  he  reined  about 
his  foaming  steed,  and  rode  at  a  break-neck  speed  for  Hilo,  never 
stopping  till  he  had  safely  quartered  his  precious  body  among  the 
guns  on  board  his  frigate.    With  such  brave  commanders  in  our  navy, 
the  country  must  be  safe. 

Having  now  reached  the  object  of  our  toil,  we  commenced  a  mi- 


328  THE    HESPERIAN. 

nute  and  careful  examination  of  the  burning  streams  and  their  move- 
ments. We  soon  discovered,  that  on  being  exposed  to  the  air  from 
three  to  five  minutes,  the  lava  became  so  hard  as  to  be  walked  on 
with  thick  shoes  in  perfect  safety.  Even  in  the  fluid  state  it  is  quite 
thick  and  hard  ;  so  much  so,  that  before  it  assumes  a  unifomi  black 
color,  it  is  capable  of  bearing  up  several  hundred  pounds.  One  of 
our  company  ran  across  a  current  within  twelve  inches  of  the  place 
where  it  issued  from  the  old  lava,  and  before  it  had  cooled  at  all. 
His  feet  sank  in  about  two  inches,  and  had  he  not  had  on  stout  tight 
boots,  or  had  he  been  accidentally  thrown  down  by  the  adhesion  of 
the  soft  material  to  his  feet,  he  must  have  lost  either  his  limbs  or  his 
life.  It  is  strange  how  daring,  and  even  foolhardy,  one  becomes 
when  carried  away  with  the  magnificence  and  sublimity  of  such  a 
scene.  I  can  not  account  for  it,  but  so  it  is,  that  one  is  so  trans- 
ported with  enthusiasm,  and  so  insensible  to  danger,  that  he  feels  that 
he  could  wade  through  a  wide  ocean  of  fire  unharmed.  Now  I  shud- 
der on  looking  back  to  some  of  the  scenes  through  which  we  passed 
there,  and  afterward  at  the  old  crater  of  Kilauea,  but  then  I  felt  that 
none  of  our  company  would  have  been  conscious  of  any  emotion  of 
fear,  even  though  we  had  felt  the  solid  crust  giving  way  beneath  our 
feet,  and  our  bodies  dropping  into  the  burning  river  below.  Amid 
such  scenes,  man  and  human  life  seem  too  insignificant  to  be  worthy 
of  a  moment's  thought ;  and  although  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  that 
foolish  old  Roman  could  jump  into  iEtna  to  secure  undying  fame,  it 
is  quite  easily  understood  by  one  who  has  looked  on  these  fires,  how 
he  might  do  so  to  relieve  the  enthusiasm  which  seems  to  be  bursting 
out  at  every  pore  of  the  body,  and  is  so  intense  and  ecstatic  as  to  be 
almost  unendurable. 

For  hours  we  lingered  among  these  fires.  We  dipped  up  the 
liquid  lava  with  iron  spoons  tied  to  the  ends  of  long  sticks,  poked  it 
with  our  canes,  pressed  coins  into  red-hot  specimens,  twisted  it  into 
all  shapes,  and  tried  on  it  all  the  experiments  which  ingenuity  and 
fancy  could  invent.  Having  satisfied  the  first  impulses  of  our  curi- 
osity, we  sat  clown  to  appease  our  appetites  ;  or  rather,  we  stood  up, 
for  the  lava  for  miles  around  us  was  so  hot,  that  whatever  parts  of 
our  bodies  touched  it,  felt  as  if  they  were  roasting  in  purgatory. 
After  lunch  we  continued  our  observations,  and  carefully  watched 
the  process  by  which  the  lava  rolled  itself  into  an  endless  variety  of 
curious  and  fantastic  forms.     At  one  moment  the  partially  hardened 


Antiquity  versus  Modernism.  329 

crust  would  be  lifted  up  for  a  few  inches  wide  and  many  feet  long  by 
the  force  of  the  stream  flowing  downward  and  pressing  upward,  when 
it  would  suddenly  roll  over  and  twist  up  into  the  form  of  a  huge  rope  of 
rock.  Then  it  would  ooze  out  and  cool  into  beautiful  cones.  Then 
by  the  same  lateral  and  upward  pressure  the  thin  crust  would  be  shoved 
up  into  folds  and  wrinkles,  exactly  like  the  elevations  and  depres- 
sions on  an  old-fashioned  washing  board.  Next  it  would  flow  over 
the  edge  of  some  fissure,  and  cool  into  shapes  like  icicles.  Again  the 
surface  would  crack  open,  and  gradually  widen  out  into  chasms.  All 
the  time,  clouds  of  smoke,  and  gases,  and  steam,  were  escaping,  and 
the  heat  was  almost  insupportable.  These  forms  of  action  were 
often  extended  over  wide  spaces,  and  the  cones,  ropes,  and  wrinkles 
of  lava  were  of  all  sizes,  from  a  half  inch  to  many  feet  in  diameter, 
aDd  from  a  few  inches  to  fifty  feet  long.  Thus  ended  a  day  which 
will  furnish  food  for  thought,  and  be  a  source  of  satisfaction  for  a  life- 
time. Such  a  day's  experience  would  well  pay  for  all  the  expense 
and  fatigue  of  a  journey  from  California  or  the  East  to  that  distant 
island  of  ocean,  now  deemed  so  insignificant,  but  destined  in  the 
future  to  be  an  object  of  interest  second  to  no  other  in  the  world. 


ANTIQUITY    VERSUS    MODERNISM. 


BY  W.  WELLINGTON  CAEPENTEK,  M.  D. 


I  believe  that  it  is  almost,  if  not  quite,  universally  conceded,  that 
the  natural  duration  of  man's  mortal  existence  is  far  less  at  the  pres- 
ent day  than  it  was  in  the  days  of  antiquity.  Such  at  least  is  the 
case,  making  all  due  allowance  for  the  difference  in  ancient  and  mod- 
ern computation  of  time.  But  the  cause  almost  invariably  assigned 
for  our  present  comparatively  brief  pilgrimage  through  this  "vale  of 
tears,"  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  verdict  of  a  superficial  view  of  the  sub- 
ject ;  and  to  treat  that  cause — or  causes,  rather — more  in  conformity 
with  the  dictates  of  reason,  is  the  sole  obj  ect  of  this  paper.  Effeminacy 
and  physical  decay  brought  on  by  our  present  fashionable,  luxuriant 
method  of  living,  stand  charged  with  the  whole  blame  for  our  present 
brevity  of  mortal  existence.  But,  in  my  opinion,  there  are  many 
causes  for  the  great  and  growing  contrast,  and  the  majority  of  them 


330  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

are  natural  causes — that  is,  their  solution  must  be  looked  for  in  the 
natural  operation  of  Nature's  laws.  Through  tracing  a  certain  line 
of  Nature's  Causes  back  into  the  dark,  and  even  buried  past,  we  shall 
see  that  our  earth  is  ever  undergoing  perpetual  change,  and  that  dif- 
ferent physical  conditions  of  the  earth's  surface  at  different  periods  of 
its  existence,  produces  different  atmospherical  conditions  ;  and  differ- 
ent atmospherical  conditions  must  produce  different  effects  upon  ani- 
mal life.  We  have  sufficient  data  upon  which  to  assume  the  position, 
that  the  farther  we  trace  man  back  into  antiquity,  the  more  power- 
ful, physically,  do  we  find  him.  It  is  the  same  with  the  lower  ani- 
mals— in  fact  the  law  holds  good,  not  only  with  the  whole  animal 
kingdom,  but  with  the  vegetable  kingdom  also.  The  t}'pes  of  both 
the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdom  are  constantly  changing.  The 
vegetation  which  the  earth  produces  at  the  present  day,  it  could  not 
have  produced  during  the  Palaeozoic  epoch  ;  nor  could  it  produce  at 
the  present  time  the  plants  which  it  produced  during  the  Palaeozoic 
period.  Certain  species  of  the  lower  order  of  animals  which  thrive 
at  the  present  day,  could  not  have  survived  during  the  Carboniferous 
era,  when  nature's  vegetable  productions  were  mighty  in  magnitude, 
but  few  in  variety.  This  is  a  subject  which  history  throws  but  little 
light  on  ;  for  the  very  reason  that  a  large  majority  of  the  human  race 
are  lost  to  living  history.  Nature's  sciences — our  only  infallible  guide 
— Geology,  Botany,  Palaeontology,  etc.,  are  our  instructors  in  the 
history  of  those  races  of  mankind  which  have  preceded  us  on  this 
planet ;  played  their  part  in  the  great  drama  of  mortal  existence, 
passed  beyond  and  become  extinct  to  living  history. 

We  know  that  mankind  must  necessarily  have  been  an  immense 
length  of  time  in  advancing  from  the  primeval  state  to  his  present 
standard  of  development.  The  fartherest  back  into  the  dim  vista  of 
the  past,  that  we  have  been  able  to  trace  man  to  a  recognized  condi- 
tion of  active  existence,  is  to  the  Stone  age.  It  was  the  age  of  stone, 
because  they  used  no  implements  except  those  made  of  a  kind  of 
stone  called  flint.  Flint  hatchets  have  been  exhumed  from  deep  ex- 
cavations in  different  parts  of  Europe,  and  are  now  on  exhibition  in 
various  parts  of  the  enlightened  world.  There  have  also  been  dis- 
covered, cotemporaneous  with  the  human  remains  of  the  Stone  era, 
the  bones  of  animals  peculiar  to  that  period,  but  which  are  now  ex- 
tinct. What  a  wonderful  lapse  of  time  must  have  passed  into  eter- 
nity, since  the  men  who  used  flint  cutlery  figured  upon  the  platform 


Antiquity  versus  Modernism.  331 

of  mortal  action.  We  have  not  the  means,  in  the  present  state  of 
our  knowledge,  of  estimating  the  exact  period  when  that  interesting 
people  sojourned  upon  this  earth,  but  hundreds  of  thousands  of  years 
have  been  numbered  with  the  departed  ages  since  that  happy  day. 
The  next  step  of  progress  brings  us  down  to  the  Bronze  age.  Bronze 
is  an  alloy  of  copper  and  tin.  It  was  during  the  Bronze  era  that  the 
copper  hatchets  were  introduced — so  many  of  which  have  been  dis- 
covered in  modern  times  in  various  parts  of  the  world.  Copper  hatch- 
ets have  been  found  imbedded  at  a  great  depth  in  the  solid  copper 
mines  of  Lake  Superior,  United  States  of  America.  That  fact  would 
appear  to  furnish  incontrovertible  proof  of  the  fact  of  those  mines  once 
having  been  worked  by  people  who  comprehended  the  art  of  hardening 
copper ;  but  the  art  is  now  buried  in  the  tomb  of  oblivion,  with  the 
people  who  employed  it ;  and  its  resurrection  devolves,  no  doubt, 
upon  a  generation  yet  unborn.  Next  to  Bronze  succeeds  the  age  of 
Iron — peremptorily  the  metal  of  civilization.  The  science  of  Pala- 
eontology enables  us  to  classify  both  the  animal  and  vegetable  king- 
doms ;  for  it  is  a  well-established  fact,  that  all  over  the  earth,  since 
the  first  appearance  of  either  vegetable  or  animal  life  upon  its  surface, 
there  has  been  a  certain  order  of  development  of  that  life,  and,  as  a 
certain  consequence,  there  must  have  been  a  regular  successive  order 
of  death  and  decay ;  and  Palaeontology,  being  the  science  of  chrono- 
logical classification  of  fossils,  let  them  be  plants  or  animals,  it  is  of 
course  an  infallible  guide  in  that  department  of  research.  The  fossil 
remains  of  extinct  human  beings  prove,  that  there  has,  some  day,  a 
race  of  the  human  family  inhabited  this  earth,  of  such  gigantic  pro- 
portions, that  we  are  as  infants  in  comparison  with  them.  The  low- 
er animals  were  correspondingly  large  ;  the  plants  were  also  im- 
mense in  size,  and  comparatively  few  in  number  or  variety.  In  an 
early  day  plants  were  few  in  number,  and  they  were  slow  in  reaching 
maturity ;  whereas  at  the  present  time  the  surface  of  the  earth  is 
covered  with  countless  species  of  vegetation  of  the  rankest  kind  of 
growth ;  which  keeps  the  earth  almost  all  the  time  covered  with  a 
load  of  decaying  vegetation.  Thiuk  you  not  that  such  a  vast  sea  of 
decomposing  vegetable  matter  impregnates  the  atmosphere  at  the 
present  time  with  deleterious  agents  which  were  once  unknown  ? 
As  our  earth  developes  a  more  and  more  productive  state  for  both 
animal  and  vegetable  life,  of  course  there  must  be  put  into  operation 
corresponding  agents  for  the  destruction  of  that  life ;  were  it  other- 


332  THE    HESPERIAN. 

wise,  the  earth  would  be  overrun,  swarming,  and  stifling  with  ani- 
mal and  vegetable  life  which  could  not  find  the  means  of  subsistence. 
Hence,  you  will  at  once  see  that  those  sages  (?)  who  are  constantly 
lamenting  that  "  our  fashionable  life  is  the  cause  of  all  our  ills,  and 
were  it  not  for  our  follies  we  might  still  attain  the  grand  old  age  of 
the  ancients,"  are  ignorant  of  the  operation  and  requirements  of 
nature's  laws.  I  do  not  deny  that  our  fast  style  of  living  has  a  tend- 
ency to  curtail  our  mortal  existence ;  but,  then,  it  is  not  satisfac- 
torily proven  that  we,  of  the  present  day,  have  many  more  health- 
destroying  fashions,  than  did  our  ancestors  in  the  good  old  days  of 
antiquity.  It  has  been  said,  that  each  successive  generation  becomes 
"  weaker  and  wiser."  I  am  not  strongly  of  the  opinion,  that  man 
possesses  a  wonderful  amount  more  of  natural  talent  in  the  present 
age  than  he  did  four  or  six  thousand  years  ago  ;  but  he  is  now  sur- 
rounded with  the  means  of  developing  and  bringing  into  action  all 
those  powers  which  in  times  past  remained  in  a  latent  condition. 
When  we  learn  to  sound  subjects  to  a  greater  depth  than  a  mere  sur- 
face view  will  enable  us,  then  will  we  arrive  at  more  stable,  sensible 
and  changeless  conclusions.  The  greatest  difficulty  that  I  see  with 
our  present  life,  is  that  we  are  too  impatient.  We  do  not  investigate 
causes,  nor  sound  effects.  We  rush  on  pell-mell,  scrambling  over 
one  another,  until  we  are  all  whirled  into  the  vortex  of  confusion, 
without  so  much  as  asking  the  why  or  wherefore  of  a  single  move 
in  which  our  destiny  forces  us  to  act  a  prominent  part.  It  follows, 
that  with  all  our  intelligence,  we  are  not  near  so  intelligent  as  with 
our  present  opportunities  we  should  be. 

America  should  be  ashamed,  that  she  has  suffered  Europe  to  get 
so  much  the  advantage  of  her  in  antiquarian  research.  Europe  has 
had  such  men  as  Dr.  Falconer,  M.  Boucher  de  Perthes,  Lyell,  Prest- 
wich,  employed  in  collecting  bones,  teeth,  etc.,  of  extinct  races, 
and  species  of  animals,  for  years,  while  America,  with  her  exhaust- 
less  food  for  the  antiquary,  is  allowed  to  slumber  on  in  undeveloped 
innocence,  without  even  an  attempt  being  made  to  reveal  to  the 
wondering  gaze  of  man  her  marvelous  relics  of  a  race  of  giants  who 
flourished  here  through  the  hight  of  prosperity,  decline  of  fading 
greatness,  and  finally  swallowed  up  in  the  great  tomb  of  oblivion, 
and  forgetfulness,  long,  long  ages  before  the  present  so  called  abo- 
rigines made  their  appearance  on  the  scene  of  action.  America  has 
her  ancient  mounds,  and  bones  of  an  extinct  race  of  giants,  which 


My  Grandmothers  Neighbors.  333 

she  has  yielded  up  to  the  common  laborer  while  he  was  employed  in 
plowing  his  field.  Shame,  shame,  America  !  at  once  encourage 
your  scientific  men,  and  at  the  same  time  add  intellectual  wealth, 
fame,  and  power  to  the  nation,  by  employing  them  to  reveal  our 
priceless  treasures  which  are  yet  locked  within  the  bowels  of  the 
earth.  Let  us  have  a  chronological  classification  of  the  fossils  of 
America  ;  and  ]et  us  have  that  classification  carefully  written  out 
and  printed  ;  and  then  we  will  use  it  for  a  text-book  in  schools,  and 
have  our  children  grow  up  with  something  like  an  intelligent  con- 
ception of  the  history  of  their  own  planet. 


[Continued  from  page  287.] 

SKETCHES  OF  MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  NEIGHBORS. 


THE    WIDOW    CROLEY    AND    HER    BEAUTIFUL   NIECE. 


BY   MRS.  S.  M.  CLARKE. 


Debby  Clipper  lost  no  time  in  circulating  Polly's  views  of  the 
subject,  and  in  a  few  weeks  after  the  young  lady's  arrival,  it  was  cur- 
rently reported  and  believed  that  the  parties  were  "betrothed,"  and 
that  the  marriage  would  occur  as  soon  as  young  Barnhum  should 
complete  his  course  of  study. 

It  was  truly  refreshing  to  My  Grandmother's  Neighbors  to 
have  something  new  to  talk  about ;  for  every  Neighbor's  hat,  and 
last  new  dress,  had  been  discussed  again  and  again — and  so  of  every 
one's  domestic  arrangements — and  so  of  last  year's  crops,  and  the 
products  of  the  poultry-yard  and  dairy.  Indeed,  something  out  of 
the  usual  order  of  events  had  become  an  absolute  social  necessity. 
For  even  "  Aunt  Hitty  Hathnews"  was  named  with  apparent  indif- 
ference ;  and  they  had  ceased  marveling  at  the  eccentric  sayings  and 
doings  of  Dr.  Wrightway ;  and  were  weary  of  discussing  the  Parson's 
wife  in  her  diminutive  womanhood,  and  of  wondering  what  possible 
attraction  she  could  have  had  for  that  good  man  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  ago.  And  now  that  the  stagnant  pool  of  their  still  life  was 
troubled  by  an  earthly  angel,  all  stepped  in  to  improve  the  rare 
occasion. 

The  young  lady  soon  became  a  great  favorite  in  the  village,  with 


334  THE   HESPERIAN. 

all  classes,  young  and  old,  rich  and  poor ;  but  particularly  with  the 
poor — for  them  she  always  had  a  kind  word  of  encouragement  to 
cheer  and  lighten  toil.  In  addition  to  her  personal  attractions,  Sarah 
Mandiville  possessed  a  fine  mental  and  moral  organization.  Her  na- 
ture was  noble  and  generous,  and  marked  by  strong,  practical  com- 
mon sense,  united  with  quick  sensibilities  and  ready  sympathies. 
And  she  was  a  student  of  Nature,  a  close  observer  of  character  and 
conditions;  and  thus,  wherever  she  moved,  she  found  subjects  of  in- 
terest, new  faces  of  life  to  amuse  and  instruct.  And  being  gifted 
with  the  happy  power  of  perceiving  the  finest  qualities  of  those  with 
whom  she  associated,  and  of  addressing  herself  to  them,  she  aided  in 
developing  the  better  part  of  their  natures,  and  received  from  others 
in  return  a  higher  and  fuller  appreciation.  Indeed,  her  strong  love 
of  the  perfect  and  beautiful,  prompted  her  to  look  for  beauties  rather 
than  defects  in  men,  women,  and  objects  ;  and  her  search  was  alwaj'S 
rewarded.  And  thus  her  soul,  being  nurtured  by  the  beautiful,  as- 
sumed and  reflected  its  lovely  image  ;  and,  as  a  consequent,  her  faith 
in  God  and  Man  increased  as  her  knowledge  was  enlarged. 

And  the  faults  of  her  friends  and  acquaintances,  that  pained  her 
to  observe,  and  the  gigantic  evils  of  society,  never  for  a  moment 
caused  her  sublime  faith  to  waver.  For  she  believed  God  to  be  the 
Supreme  Ruler  of  the  universe  of  matter  and  of  mind  which  He  cre- 
ated, and  that  there  could  be  no  permanent  retrogression  ;  but,  that 
tnere  must  be,  as  a  consequent  of  His  nature  and  power,  a  tendency 
everywhere  to  higher  and  more  perfect  conditions. 

This  was  the  religious  aspect  of  her  character  ;  her  other  self  was 
humorous,  sunny,  and  loving,  and  sparkling  with  quaint,  original 
thought.  Like  Nature,  she  was  subject  to  occasional  clouds  and  sun- 
bursts, but  in  her  entire  character  she  was  a  philosopher  ;  her  pas- 
sions, impulses  and  sentiments  were  all  under  the  direction  of  a  cul- 
tivated reason.  There  was  a  curious  blending  of  opposite  qualities 
ill  her  nature — of  tenderness  and  strength — of  gentleness  and  decision 
— of  mirthfulness  and  gravity — of  quiet  self-respect,  and  thoughtful 
appreciation  of  others — which  rendered  her  a  versatile  and  charming 
companion.  Those  who  associated  most  intimately  with  Sarah  Man- 
diville, loved  her  most ;  for  she  met  every  demand  upon  her  affluent 
nature  with  queenly  liberality.  Not  that  she  was  lavish  of  gold,  for 
after  her  father's  reverses  of  fortune  she  had  little  to  bestow ;  but 
from  the  resources  of  her  own  rich  nature,  she  gave  freely  of  that 


My  Grandmother  s  Neighbors.  335 

which  is  more  valuable  than  the  glittering  ore,  and  received  a  large 
compensation. 

To  "the  Widow  Croley"  Sarah  Mandiville  was  a  marvel.  She 
had  never  before  met  with  a  person  so  genial  and  versatile  in  charac- 
ter, and  so  fruitful  in  resources.  In  every  direction  of  her  faculties 
there  was  development  far  beyond  her  years,  and  each  day  unfolded 
some  new  feature  to  win  love  and  admiration.  She  was  the  light  of 
Maple  Hall. 

One  afternoon  of  early  spring,  after  a  residence  of  more  than  a 
year  with  her  aunt,  while  the  ladies  were  occupied  with  their  needle- 
work in  the  cheerful  "sitting-room"  of  Maple  Hall,  which  was  their 
usual  habit,  Sarah  Mandiville  looked  up  archly  and  brightly  from  her 
embroidery  frame  to  the  widow,  and  said :  "  Dearest  aunt,  I  have 
two  very  great  favors  to  ask  of  you — will  you  grant  them  ?" 

The  widow,  smiling  kindly  upon  her  beautiful  niece,  replied — 
"  I  think  that  I  may  safely  promise  you  in  advance,  my  child ;  what 
can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  You  may  remember,  dearest  aunt,  that,  when  Parson  Kindly 
dined  with  us  last  week,  he  inquired  if  you  were  acquainted  with  any 
lady  who  would  like  the  charge  of  the  district  school  for  the  sum- 
mer, and  remarked  that  the  School  Committee  had  desired  him  to 
select  some  one  qualified  for  the  situation,  as  the  lady  who  had  form- 
erly taught  the  school  was  on  the  eve  of  marriage.  Now,  dearest 
aunt,  I  wish  to  obtain  your  permission  to  teach  the  school,  and, 
also,  a  recommendation  from  you  to  Parson  Kindly,  setting  forth  my 
admirable  qualifications  for  the  office  !" 

"  Nonsense,  my  child  !"  the  lady  exclaimed  with  evident  annoy- 
ance, laying  aside  her  needle-work,  and  turning  a  perplexed  and  scru- 
tinizing glance  upon  her  niece.  "  To  think  of  my  child,  the  daughter 
of  my  beloved  sister,  as  a  teacher  of  a  district  school !  Preposter- 
ous !  From  whom  could  you  have  inherited  such  a  plebeian  taste  ? 
Not  from  your  mother's  family,  assuredly." 

"  It  is  true  that  I  did  not.  My  nature  was  inherited  from  my 
Maker  ;  and,  if  it  be  plebeian,  it  is  His  creation,  and  I  cannot  com- 
plain. '  Should  the  thing  formed  say  to  Him  who  fashioned  it — 
Why  hast  Thou  mad3  me  thus  V  But  1  cannot  regard  the  office  of 
teacher  as  menial  ;  to  me  it  appears  one  of  the  noblest  that  a  human 
being  can  fill.     I  have  often  thought  that  the  true  teacher  bears  the 

same  relation  to  the  intellectual  and  moral  world,  that  the  sun  bears 
o 


336  THE    HESPERIAN. 

to  the  physical — the  latter  unfolds  the  material,  or  natural  germ,  the 
former  the  spiritual :  and  thus  the  teacher  becomes  the  direct  agent 
of  the  Almighty,  in  developing  the  latent  powers  of  the  human  soul. 
He  fashions  the  precious  germs  of  mind,  and  it  is  her  province  to 
stimulate  them  to  growth,  to  larger  life,  through  the  warmth  of  her 
affection,  and  the  light  of  her  truth  and  knowledge,  until  they  become 
perfect  human  flowers.  Thus  the  teacher  cooperates  with  the  Cre- 
ator, and  her  mission  is  divine,  although  the  prejudices  of  education 
may  prevent  us  from  perceiving  the  beautiful  truth." 

The  subject  of  teaching  had  never  before  been  presented  to  the 
Widow  Croley  in  the  same  light.  Her  mind  was  of  a  strongly  marked 
religious  character,  and  this  view  of  it  caused  her  to  hesitate  a  mo- 
ment before  replying.     At  length  she  responded  : — 

"  Teaching,  my  child,  may  be  a  high  and  sacred  calling  for  those 
who  are  obliged  by  poverty  to  seek  occupation  for  a  livelihood  ;  but 
your  reasons  for  wishing  to  become  a  teacher,  I  cannot  comprehend. 
You  belong  to  one  of  the  most  aristocratic  families  of  the  country, 
and  were  educated  to  take  a  distinguished  position  in  society;  and, 
although  your  father  lost  his  property  in  unfortunate  speculations, 
you  will  never  suffer  any  inconvenience  from  that  cause,  my  child, 
for  my  income  is  ample  for  us  both  ;  and,  when  I  am  gone,  you  will 
become  my  heir." 

"  You  pain  me,  dearest  aunt,  by  that  last  allusion.  You  have 
been  father,  mother,  and  friend  to  me  in  my  need,  and  I  am  not  un- 
grateful, I  do  assure  you,  and  it  would  distress  me  beyond  measure 
to  annoy  you  in  any  way  ;  but,  after  I  give  you  my  reasons  for  wish- 
ing to  become  a  teacher,  I  do  not  think  that  you  will  regard  it  as  a 
mere  whim  of  a  young  girl's  inexperienced  brain.  If  it  were  only 
'  for  the  glorious  sake  of  being  independent,'  that  I  desire  to  engage 
in  teaching,  I  would  not  urge  the  matter  farther,  as  it  appears  un- 
pleasant to  you  ;  for  I  could  school  my  pride  to  almost  any  condition 
of  dependence  that  would  not  conflict  with  liberty  of  soul.  But, 
dearest  aunt,  I  feel,  first  of  all,  that  I  have  a  part  to  act  in  life,  work 
to  do,  and  that  I  cannot  become  an  idler  and  bury  my  talent  in  the 
earth  without  robbing  my  Creator  of  his  claim  to  my  best  service. 
I  feel  it  to  be  a  moral  obligation  to  earn  my  right  to  a  share  of  the 
common  inheritance,  to  a  part  of  this  beautiful  world,  by  active  and 
useful  occupation,  by  doing  something  for  the  general  good.  And  1 
wish  to  labor  in  a  profession  in  which  I  feel  that  I  can  accomplish 


My  Grandmother 's  Neighbors.  337 

most  in  the  shortest  period  ;  as  this  comports  with  my  idea  of  the 
most  economical  use  of  power.  And  I  wish  also  to  labor  in  a  profes- 
sion that  will  improve  and  enlarge  my  own  nature,  while  I  am  bene- 
fiting others.  And  I  wish,  farther,  to  work  in  harmony  with  my 
tastes  ;  for  this  will  impart  additional  pleasure  to  occupation,  and 
keep  my  spirits  buoyant. 

"  And  teaching,  dearest  aunt,  appears  to  me  to  combine  all  these 
advantages.  I  love  children.  It  is  a  real  pleasure  to  watch  the  grad- 
ual unfolding  of  their  natures,  and  give  direction  to  their  expanding 
powers.     Your  favorite  poet  says  : — 

'  Teaching,  we  learn  ;  and  giving,  we  retain 
The  births  of  intellect.  *  *  *  * 
Thought,  too,  delivered,  is  the  more  possessed.' 

"My  other  reasons  for  wishing  to  become  a  teacher,  are  more 
selfish  ;  and  yet  they  appear  important  to  my  happiness.  I  have 
been  with  you,  dearest  aunt,  more  than  a  year.  The  change  from 
city  to  country  life  is  very  great  to  me.  I  often  feel  a  distaste  for  its 
monotony,  and  a  deep  yearning  for  old  associations.  And  these  con- 
ditions of  mind  have  returned  more  frequently,  of  late,  producing  un- 
usual depression  of  spirits  ;  and  I  thought  that,  by  occupying  my 
mind  with  new  duties  and  interests,  I  might  be  able  to  shake  off  the 
weight  of  discontent,  and  feel  happy  in  the  position  in  which  your 
kindness  and  affection  have  placed  me." 

"Truly,  'the  lines  have  fallen  in  pleasant  places'  to  you,  my 
child  ;  and  it  surprised  me  beyond  measure  to  hear  you  say  that  a 
country  life  is  distasteful  to  you.  This  is  so  unlike  your  noble  Eng- 
lish ancestors,  who  delighted  in  rural  scenes  and  homes,  often  prefer- 
ring their  retired  country  seats  to  splendid  residences  at  court.  Tru- 
ly, there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes.  But  what  passable  objection 
can  you  have  to  a  country  residence  ?" 

"  The  objection,  dearest  aunt,  appears  to  lie  deep  in  my  nature. 
For  when  I  was  a  mere  child,  and  dear  father  took  me  into  the  coun- 
try for  a  change  of  air,  I  always  returned  to  my  city  home  with  the 
feeling  an  exile  must  experience  when  his  feet  press  again  his  native 
soil.  The  first  glimpse  of  the  moving  crowd  would  bring  tears  of  joy 
to  my  eyes,  and  a  cry  of  exultation  to  my  lips,  while  my  heart  would 
bound  in  my  bosom.  And  I  felt  as  though  I  must  spring  from  the 
carriage  and  embrace  every  one  that  I  saw  in  the  streets  through 
which  we  passed,  and  ask  them  to  welcome  me  home  once  more. 


338  THE    HESPERIAN. 

"  The  very  air  of  the  city,  too,  seemed  to  possess  a  vitalizing  prop- 
erty for  me  ;  for  I  have  always  felt  stronger,  and  my  spirits  have  been 
more  elastic  there,  than  in  the  country.  And  this  fact  has  led  me  to 
infer  that  some  persons  may  be  constitutionally  dependent  upon  city 
life  for  their  best  health  and  greatest  happiness ;  some  peculiarities 
of  the  physical  and  mental  conformation  demanding  the  condition  for 
their  highest  development. 

"  And  yet,  I  love  the  country.  I  love  all  its  beautiful  wild  flow- 
ers, bright  with  the  Father's  smile,  conveying  to  our  hearts  a  per- 
petual benediction.  I  love  its  fragrant  shrubs,  and  trees,  and  vales, 
and  mountains ;  and  its  streams,  and  water-falls,  that  flash  the  sun- 
light back  to  Heaven,  imparting  a  living  beauty  to  the  landscape. 
But  animated  nature  attracts  me  far  more  powerfully.  Infinitely 
better  do  I  love  to  watch  the  unfolding  of  the  living,  thinking,  hu- 
man soul,  than  the  growth  of  trees,  shrubs,  and  flowers. 

"  It  would  be  my  choice  to  live  in  the  center  of  the  most  popu- 
lous districts,  that  I  might  be  surrounded  by  large  numbers  of  my 
fellow-beings,  and  feel  the  pulsations  of  humanity's  great  heart.  In 
the  city  my  sympathies  are  quickened,  my  aspirations  are  kindled, 
and  my  whole  nature  is  enlarged  and  intensified.  But  when  I  am  in 
the  country,  I  become  a  stranger  to  myself.  I  no  longer  feel  that  I 
am  growing,  and  accumulating  power  ;  but  experience  a  peculiar 
sensation  of  being  dhTused  through  space,  as  if  Nature  were  drawing 
upon  me  for  the  small  investment  she  made  in  my  constituent  ele- 
ments, and  I  had  no  power  to  resist  the  demand,  or  recover  the  scat- 
tered particles  of  myself !  My  spirits  flag  ;  my  inspirations  leave 
me  ;  and  I  am  haunted  with  the  thought  that  I  may  sink  into  a  state 
of  imbecility,  and,  finally,  die  like  a  vegetable. 

"  And  the  social  and  intellectual  condition  of  country  people  is 
painful  to  me.  It  may  be  that  the  still  life  of  human  beings  here, 
even  more  than  of  nature,  impresses  me  so  strangely.  The  dullness 
and  inertia  of  the  intellect  is  truly  marvelous.  Men  do  not  appear 
to  take  the  slightest  interest  in  anything  beyond  the  weather,  the 
soil,  the  raising  of  cattle  and  crops,  and  the  state  of  the  market. 
Women  limit  their  thoughts  and  conversation  to  baking,  brewing, 
churning,  spinning  and  weaving,  and  the  last  new  hat  and  chintz 
dress  that  appeared  at  church.  Tea-party  conversation  is  varied  and 
enlivened  a  little  by  the  latest  gossip  or  scandal  elaborated  from  the 
prolific  brain  of  Polly  Spoonall.     The  outside  world  is  a  sealed  book 


My  Grandmother  s  Neighbors.  339 

to  them.  They  feel  no  interest  in  the  rise  and  fall  of  states  and  na- 
tions, and  in  the  great  principles  of  human  liberty  and  progress  that 
are  at  work  all  over  the  earth,  undermining  old  forms  of  despotism, 
and  inaugurating  a  new  and  brighter  era  for  mankind. 

"  But  the  inhabitants  of  cities  move  in  a  larger  sphere  of  thought 
and  action  ;  and  the  general  interests  of  society  are,  therefore,  more 
fully  appreciated  by  them.  Intellect  attracts  intellect,  mind  is  quick- 
ened, and  new  and  beautiful  thought-births,  full  of  promise  for  hu- 
manity, are  the  results.  Cities,  indeed,  are  the  nurseries  of  genius. 
There  the  artists,  the  orators,  and  the  poets,  find  that  sympathy  and 
appreciation  needful  for  their  fullest  life  and  development.  There 
the  statesmen,  and  moral  and  social  philosophers,  are  formed.  And 
there  the  philanthropists  are  born,  who  ameliorate  the  hard  condi- 
tions of  classes,  and  roll  the  stumbling  stones  and  rocks  of  offense 
away  from  the  path  of  the  toiling  millions. 

"  At  my  dear  old  home  in  B I  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  asso- 
ciating with  the  most  enlightened  minds  of  the  State.  My  dear  fa- 
ther cared  only  for  such ;  and  the  subjects  of  conversation  were 
always  elevating  and  instructive.  Our  evenings  were  devoted  to  so- 
cial entertainments,  either  at  home  or  abroad,  and  each  was  an  intel- 
lectual feast.  Yes,  the  deep  fountains  of  truth  were  early  unsealed 
for  me,  dearest  aunt,  but  my  thirst  is  yet  unquenched  ;  and  I  some- 
times feel  as  though  nothing  less  than  infinite  knowledge  could  sat- 
isfy the  cravings  of  my  spirit." 

[To  be  continued.] 


The  use  of — "  your  humble  servant1' — first  came  into  England 
in  the  time  of  Queen  Mary,  daughter  of  Henry  IV.  of  France,  which 
is  derived  from  "  votre  tres  humble  serveteur."  The  usual  saluta- 
tion before  that  period,  was — God  keep  you !  God  be  with  you  ! 
Among  the  vulgar,  "  How  d'ye  do  ?"  with  a  hearty  thump  on  the 
shoulder. 

Some  read  to  think  ;  these  are  rare — some,  to  write ;  these  are 
common  :  and  some  read  to  talk — and  these  are  the  great  majority. 
The  first  page  of  an  author,  not  unfrequently,  suffices  all  the  pur- 
poses, of  this  latter  class,  of  whom  it  has  been  said,  they  treat  books 
as  some  do  lords  ;  they  inform  themselves  of  their  titles,  and  then 
boast  of  an  intimate  acquaintance. 


THE     OCEAN     BURIAL 


BY  MRS.  M.  D.  STRONG. 


Silently — tearfully, 

Cover  that  brow ; 
Gone  is  the  might 

Of  his  manliness  now  ; 
Cold  is  the  bosom, 

Glassy  the  eye  ; 
Ear  on  the  blue  wave 

He  wandered  to  die. 

Silently — tearfully, 

Eold  the  dark  pall, 
Sternly  old  Ocean 

Shall  close  o'er  its  fall  ; 
No  dirge  but  the  wild  wind, 

No  tomb  but  the  sea, 
Deep  'mid  its  treasures, 

His  lone  sleep  shall  be. 

Afar  o'er  the  billow 

There's  gladness  to-day, 
In  the  green  sunny  vale 

Where  his  young  children  play  ; 
And  the  thought  of  their  sire 

Is  coupled  in  glee, 
With  the  joy  of  a  greeting 

That  never  shall  be. 

And  long  shall  those  dear  ones 

Await — but  in  vain — 
Tbe  step  that  will  gladden, 

Oh  !  never  again — 
They'll  list  for  the  loved  tones, 

So  gentle — so  gay — 
Alas  !  the  Death- Angel 

Hath  stilled  it  for  aye. 

Oh  !  wave  of  life's  ocean  ! 

What  tale  can'st  thou  tell, 
Of  all  o'er  whose  slumbers, 

Thou  soundest  the  knrll  1 


Ruth  May.  341 

Oh  !  wave  of  life's  ocean  ! 

Thy  merciless  surge 
O'er  all  we  have  treasured 

Is  sounding  the  dirge. 

Silently — tearfully — 

Leave  him  to  sleep, 
Where  coral  is  gleaming, 

And  dark  sea-weeds  weep  ; 
Yet  know  that  the  spirit — 

The  deathless,  the  free — 
Bows  not  to  the  spoiler, 

Bests  not  in  the  sea. 


RUTH     MAY. 


BY  FANNY  GREEN  MC  DOUGAL. 


[Continued  from  page  278.] 

At  this  juncture  Mrs.  Bennett  spied  the  book  on  which  the  folded 
arras  of  Ruth  yet  rested  ;  and  turning  to  Mrs.  May,  she  said,  "  There's 
one  thing  that's  very  strange  to  me,  an'  that  is,  how  poor  folks  finds 
so  much  time  to  read.  Why,  I  should'nt  think,  Mrs.  May,  that  you'd 
ever  allow  that  girl  of  yours — I  forget  her  name — ever  to  touch  a 
book,  without  'twas  the  Bible,  an'  hymn  book — an'  then  only  Sun- 
days— for  as  you  ha'nt  much  time,  'twould  be  overlooked,  I  dare  say, 
if  you  should'nt  read  a  chapter  every  day,  's  we  allers  makes  it  a 
pint  to  do.  Them's  necessary,  yer  know,  to  save  yer  souls,  an'  show 
ye  the  way  to  Heaven  ;  an'  in  my  opinion,  poor  folks  can't  rightly 
afford  anything  more  ;  for  if  they  don't  work  when  they  oughter,  it's 
jest  the  same  and  all  one's  pickin'  other  folkses  pockets.  I've  often 
thought  what  a  fool  you  be,  Mrs.  May,  to  indulge  that  girl  in  her  idle- 
ness. Let  me  advise  you,  as  a  friend,  to  keep  books  out  of  her  sight, 
if  you  ever  expect  to  get  anything  out  of  her.  Why,  she's  nothing 
in  the  world  but  a  moth  to  you.  If  there's  one  thing  that  I  do  hate 
more  than  another,  it  is  laziness." 

This  sally,  rude  as  it  was,  was  yet  too  coarse  to  be  deeply  wound- 
ing; but  Ruth,  who  was  of  a  highly  nervous  and  sanguine  temper- 
ament, finding  it  impossible  to  repress  her  indignation,  rose  and  left 
the  room  ;  and  when  she  was  out  of  sight,  she  threw  herself  on  her 


342  THE    HESPERIAN. 

couch,  and  wept  sorely  to  think  that  a  woman  highly  educated, 
tenderly  nurtured,  true  and  just  in  all  her  actions,  refined  and  deli- 
cate in  all  her  feelings,  as  her  mother  was,  must  yet  not  only  labor  for 
a  bare  pittance,  but  must  also  submit  to  the  most  cruel  and  wanton 
insults  from  one  who  had  been  but  among  the  menials  in  her  grand- 
father's kitchen,  but  whose  incurable  vulgarity  was  innate,  or  she 
might  have  been  somewhat  softened  even  there,  for  the  domestics 
were  not  made  slaves,  and  under  the  example  and  teaching  of  the 
amiable  daughters  of  the  family,  several  girls  were  reared,  who  had 
afterward  become  intelligent,  intellectual,  and  even  polished — an 
honor  to  society,  and  to  their  sex.  But  there  is  a  certain  order  of 
vulgarity — an  inborn  coarseness  of  the  grain,  which  is  incurable — 
and  this  is  as  likely  to  occur  in  the  drawing-room  as  in  the  kitchen. 
Such  was  the  case  with  Mrs.  Bennett. 

As  Ruth  left  the  room,  the  tearful  eye  of  Mrs.  May  followed  her 
until  the  door  closed.  Then  turning  to  her  patroness  with  a  dignity 
and  authority  which  even  her  obtuse  perceptions  could  not  resist, 
she  said,  "  Permit  me,  madam,  to  request  that  you  will  never  allude 
to  this  subject  again.  If  my  work  does  not  please  you,  take  it  away. 
Pray  understand  me,  when  I  say,  that  by  making  your  dresses  at 
less  than  one-half  the  usual  prices,  I  lay  myself  under  no  obligations 
to  you,  whatever ;  so  do  not  attempt  to  interfere  with  my  domestic 
affairs.  I  consider  myself  the  best  judge  in  regard  to  my  own  family 
matters,  and  that  right  I  will  not  surrender  to  any  one." 

"  Why  la  !  Mrs.  May,  how  you  do  talk.  Anybody  would  think 
you  was  worth  a  cool  hundred  thousan'  at  least.  But  I  meant  no 
harm.  Some  folks  is  made  so,  I  suppose.  They  can't  take  a  word 
of  advice  from  a  friend.  If  you  are  able  to  support  your  girl  in  idle- 
ness, it's  none  of  my  business,  to  be  sure ;  but  I  really  b'lieve,  take 
the  time  together,  that  she  reads  as  much  as  either  of  my  girls — and 
Jerushy  Ann  has  quite  a  literary  turn.  But  you've  no  idea  how 
much  work  them  girls  get  through  with  in  the  run  of  a  year  ;  the 
mats,  and  ottermans,  an'  woosted  flowers,  an'  wax  work,  they  do 
make.  An'  now  Matildy  Jane  is  agoin'  about  embroidery  for  a  set 
of  chairs.  'Tis  a  great  help,  Mrs.  May,  to  have  such  children." 
Mrs.  Bennett  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  ran  on  again,  without 
let  or  hindrance. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  May,  I  am  goin'  to  tell  you  a  secret.  Our  Jerushy 
Ann  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  lawyer.     Is'nt  that  quite  a  feather 


Ruth  May.  343 

in  her  cap  '?  An'  they  say  he's  rich  inter  the  bargain.  Now,  be- 
tween yon  and  me,  if  you  make  the  girls'  dresses  to  suit,  they 
intend  to  get  you  to  make  the  wedding  dresses,  an'  that'll  be  con- 
siderable of  a  speck,  for  all  the  girls  will  have  at  least  three  suits 
apiece.  We  mean  to  give  the  bride  a  real  good  settin'  out ;  for  we 
are  able,  and  shan't  be  mean  about  it.  And  Jerushy  Ann  says,  if 
Ruth  would  only  lay  aside  them  foolish  airs,  and  jest  act  as  is  proper 
for  anybody  in  her  sp'ere,  an'  behave  herself,  an'  be  stiddy  an'  indus- 
trious, she  would  employ  her  to  do  all  the  plain  sewin" — for  she'll 
have  a  lot  to  do,  I  can  tell  you.  An'  if  she  minds  her  business,  an' 
tries  to  please,  she'll  keep  her  after  marriage  as  seamstress.  Mr. 
Spencer  is  very  particular  about  his  shirts  an'  all  them  things  ;  an' 
Jerushy  Ann  don't  know  much  about  plain  sewin'.  Her  taste  all 
runs  in  the  ornamental  line." 

"  Did  I  understand  you  right  ?  Did  you  say  Mr.  Spenser?"  al- 
most gasped  Mrs.  May. 

"  I  did'nt  say  anything  else.  He's  in  a  very  pertikelar  hurry  :  so 
I  tell  Jerushy  Ann  it's  always  best  to  strike  when  the  iron's  hot. 
Many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and  the  lip,  as  the  old  saying  is.  Why 
you  know  the  gentleman  's  as  well  as  I  do.  He  was  born  an'  brought 
up  in  our  county."  She  hesitated,  as  if  a  better  instinct  had  partially 
overcome  her  habitual  coarseness,  vulgarity,  and  selfishness  of  char- 
acter; but  presently  relapsed  into  the  same  strain.  "They  do  say 
he  once  had  a  notion  of  your  Ruth  ;  but  he  says  there  's  no  sich 
thing.  He  might  have  made  her  his  companion ;  an'  if  he'd  been 
like  most  young  men  he  would  :  but  he  never  thought  of  marrying 
her." 

"  Stop  !  stop  ;"  shrieked  Mrs.  May,  with  a  mingled  expression  of 
horror  and  indignation,  that  touched  even  the  blunted  sensibilities  of 
the  listener. 

"No  offence,  Mrs.  May!"  continued  the  other.  "You  know 
poor  folks  do'nt  mind  such  things.  It's  nothin'  more  than  should  be 
expected  ;  an'  most  poor  girls  would  consider  it  quite  an  honor  to 
live  with  a  rich  gentleman  in  any  way.  Though,  to  be  sure,  it's  a 
wicked  shame  that  such  things  should  be  !"  she  added,  settling  her- 
self down  with  a  most  resigned  and  pious  expression  on  her  plethoric 
features.  "But  Jerushy  's  a  good  girl,"  she  resumed,  "a  ginerous 
sperited  girl,  an'  always  was — though  I  say  it  that  had'nt  ought  to. 
She  says  she  pities  Ruth,  an'  she  don't  think  she's  any  sich  kind  o' 


344  THE    HESPERIAN. 

character,  at  all ;  an'  she's  willin'  to  take  her  into  the  family,  an'  do 
for  her ;  an'  he  's  agreed.  I  don't  know,  in  fact,  but  he  first  pro- 
posed it." 

All  this  time  the  speaker  had  not  noticed  the  fearful  agitation  of 
Mrs.  May. 

"How  long  has  this  been?"  asked  the  latter,  grasping  by  the 
door-lock  to  escape  falling. 

"  Only  about  six  weeks.  Rushy  saw  him  first  at  the  Washington 
Ball.  That  fine  dress  you  made,  carried  her  to  a  first-rate  market. 
But,  for  pity's  sake,  what  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  May !" 

"  Nothing  ;  only  a  little  faintness.  I  am  subject  to  such  turns," 
replied  the  latter,  with  great  efforts  at  calmness.  "  Have  the  kind- 
ness to  reach  my  salts.  There,  thank  you  !  I  feel  better  now."  As 
she  spoke  she  bent  to  pick  up  the  fragments  of  the  dress.  But  the 
struggle  was  too  intense.     She  reeled,  and  fell  senseless  on  the  floor. 

For  some  days,  the  effect  of  the  shock  on  the  delicate  system  of 
Mrs.  May  seemed  fraught  with  even  dangerous  symptoms ;  but  the 
placid  and  even  cheerful  aspect  of  Ruth  tended  far  more  than  medi- 
cine to  revive  and  reassure  her :  and  when,  at  length,  full  confidence 
was  restored  between  the  mother  and  daughter,  the  former  began  to 
amend. 

One  evening,  a  few  days  after  the  painful  disclosure  alluded  to 
above,  they  were  sitting  together  in  the  pleasant  twilight.  Ruth  had 
kept  nothing  back ;  but  had  told  the  whole  revolting  story.  She 
had  told  her  even,  how  Mr.  Spenser  had  insulted  her,  by  declaring 
that  money  was  his  sole  object  in  marrying  his  betrothed  ;  that  he 
still  loved  her  only,  suggesting  that  she  might  become  an  inmate  of 
his  family  ;  and  that  they  might  still  be  united  in  everything  but  the 
external  forms. 

"  I  had  hoped  to  spare  you  this,  my  dear  mother,"  said  Ruth,  as 
she  concluded.  "  But  let  us  speak  of  him  no  more,"  she  added,  with 
a  clear  and  steady  light  shining  through  her  tears,  while  the  slight 
quivering  of  the  compressed  lip,  only,  told  how  much  she  still  felt. 

"  Ah !  my  poor  child !"  said  Mrs.  May,  "  how  much  you  must 
have  suffered  !" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ruth  ;  "  but  that  suffering  is  now  made  both 
shield  and  armor  for  the  future  contest.  I  know  that  I  am  stronger 
and  better  for  the  struggle.  I  am  assured  that  the  spirit  which  has 
risen  triumphant  from  such  a  conflict,  will  not  fail  me  in  any  ex- 
tremity." 


Ruth  May.  345 

"  So  may  it  be,  my  daughter  !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  May  5  but  yield- 
ing to  the  weakness  of  disease,  mortification,  and  disappointment,  she 
burst  into  tears,  and  wept  again  for  some  time. 

"  Grieve  not  for  me,  dearest  mother!"  said  Ruth,  who  had  been 
through  the  whole,  calm  and  gentle  as  an  angel ;  "  but  rather  rejoice 
over  me  ;"  and  as  she  spoke,  she  tenderly  lifted  the  head,  and  turned 
the  pillow  that  was  wet  with  tears  of  bitterest  maternal  anguish. 
"Weep  not,"  she  continued  ;  "  but  rejoice  that  I  am  released  from 
bonds  which  must  soon  have  become  intolerable.  Look  at  me,  dear- 
est mother,  and  see  how  calm  and  serious  I  am.  The  crisis  is  now 
past ;  and  I  am  the  strongest.  During  the  last  few  hours,  I  have 
seemed  to  live  years.  The  thought  and  feeling  of  ages  have  been 
intensified  into  the  experience  of  moments.  All  the  elements  of  my 
nature  have  been  at  work,  and  the  result  is  v.  sweet  peace,  a  beau- 
tiful hope,  a  divine  faith  I  have  never  known  before.  I  was  put  into 
the  crucible  of  affliction,  a  weak,  dependent,  and  helpless  child.  I 
have  come  out,  a  strong,  energetic,  and  self-dependent  woman.  A 
clear  and  beautiful  light  seems  to  envelop  all  the  future.  I  now  feel 
that  I  have  the  power  to  achieve  something  in  life,  worthy  of  your 
and  my  father's  daughter ;  and,  with  this  firm  self-reliance,  this  deep 
trust  in  God,  I  am  sure  I  shall  accomplish  it." 

For  some  time  Mrs.  May  could  only  murmur,  "  God  bless  you, 
my  love !  God  bless  you,  my  child  !"  but  the  serene  spirit  and  con- 
fidence of  Ruth  soon  pervaded  her  bosom,  also,  and  she  became  tran- 
quil, and  even  hopeful ;  looking  on  her  daughter  with  mingled  affec- 
tion and  astonishment ;  for  she  had  seemed  transfigured  before  her. 

"  But  you  said  you  had  some  plan,  or  idea,  in  regard  to  our  future 
course,"  said  Mrs.  May,  after  a  short  silence. 

"  Before  I  answer  you,  dear  mother,"  replied  Ruth,  "  let  me  ask 
you  a  question.  Do  you  believe  in  guardian  angels,  or  that  the  spir- 
its of  the  departed  are  permitted  to  revisit  and  watch  over  their 
friends  ?" 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  so  ;  and  it  has  seemed  to  me,  that  I 
could  trace  impressions  and  intuitions  to  such  sources.  But  why  do 
you  ask  ?" 

"  Because  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  father  stood  by,  during  all 
that  fearful  conflict.  So  strong  was  this  impression,  that  I  sometimes 
thought  I  could  feel  his  arms  gently  embracing  me,  and  his  breath 
upon  my  cheek.    O,  if  you  only  knew  what  a  sweet  and  divine  peace 


346  THE    HESPERIAN. 

flowed  into  that  thought.  I  was  comforted,  and  strengthened,  beyond 
all  natural  comfort  and  strength.  And  then  he  told  me  what  to  do, 
by  a  single  word,  which  seemed  not  to  be  spoken  in  the  ear,  but 
whispered  in  the  soul." 

"  And  what  did  he  tell  you  ?"  asked  Mrs.  May,  while  she  appeared 
to  hang  on  the  answer  with  greater  interest  than  she  had  before  man- 
ifested. 

"  He  told  me  to  advertise  for  a  situation,"  returned  Ruth  ;  "  and 
I  have  resolved  to  do  so.     ''Advertise''  was  the  word." 

"  It  is  very  curious,"  responded  Mrs.  May,  "yet  none  the  less  true, 
that  the  same  idea  has  been  impressed  very  mysteriously  on  my  mind. 
And  why  should  you  not  do  so,  my  love  ?"  added  Mrs.  May.  "  You 
are  both  highly  gifted  and  well  skilled,  in  music  and  drawing,  a  pro- 
ficient in  several  of  the  natural  sciences,  especially  Botany.  You  un- 
derstand and  speak  French,  know  something  of  Latin  and  Spanish, 
and  are  schooled  in  the  English  branches." 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  can  obtain  a  situation.  I  am  certain  of  it — so 
certain,  that  I  have  already  made  a  rough  draft  of  an  advertisement. 
Pray  see  if  it  will  do." 

Mrs.  May  took  the  paper,  and  after  having  read  it,  proposed  some 
alterations.  "  But  how  is  it  to  be  paid  for  ?"  she  asked,  as  she  handed 
it  back  to  Ruth. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  my  father  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
editor  of  the  Organ  ?"  responded  the  other.  "I  have,  in  this  note, 
which,  with  your  permission,  I  shall  send,  told  him  something  of  our 
situation,  and  asked  him,  for  father's  sake,  to  trust  me  until  I  am 
able  to  pay  him — which  I  am  confident  I  shall  soon  be." 

"  This  really  does  look  like  the  go-ahead  principle,"  observed  Mrs. 
May,  with  a  smile  ;  "  I  can  no  longer  doubt  of  your  entire  success, 
my  love." 

The  advertisement  was  inserted  —  and  several  applications  were 
made  directly ;  but  no  positive  arrangements  had  followed,  though 
two  cases  were  pending,  as  containing  the  possible  contingencies  of 
an  agreement  satisfactory  to  all.  A  week  was  to  decide  the  matter. 
On  the  very  day  when  the  lady  who  responded  to  the  first,  was 
hourly  expected,  and  they  were  deliberating  on  the  propriety  of  ac- 
cepting her  terms,  which  indeed  seemed  to  involve  more  arduous 
duties  than  Mrs.  May  believed  her  daughter  could  endure,  a  knock 
at  their  door  was  followed  by  the  entrance  of  a  gentleman  of  singu- 
larly elegant  person,  and  prepossessing  demeanor. 


Ruth  May.  347 

He  announced  himself  as  Mr.  Arlington,  preceptor  of Acad- 
emy ;  arid  said,  addressing  Mrs.  May,  that  he  had  been  attracted  by 
the  advertisement  of  a  young  lady  for  the  situation  of  a  teacher. 
Then  turning  to  Euth,  he  added,  "  But  this  young  Miss,  I  should 
judge,  could  hardly  be  the  one." 

The  idea  that  her  extremely  youthful  appearance  might  be  against 
her,  had  not  before  occurred  to  Ruth.  Struck  and  pained  by  the 
danger  of  this,  she  forgot  her  usual  timidity,  and  stepping  forward 
with  a  look  of  imploring  earnestness,  she  said,  "  I  am  the  one.  Do 
you  think  I  am  too  young  ?  I  am  older  than  I  appear.  Indeed,  I 
am  almost  twenty."  And  as  she  said  this,  a  blush  of  sweetest  mod- 
esty overspread  her  animated  features ;  and  truly  she  had  never  ap- 
peared so  lovely.  The  stranger  stood  as  if  transfixed  at  once  by  a 
thousand  arrows.  Rosy  little  Cupids  seemed  to  be  hovering  over  the 
lovely  girl ;  and  he  was  thinking  of  anything  rather  than  the  dry  de- 
tails of  his  professional  business.  His  apparent  absorption  was  im- 
puted to  another  reason — in  short,  to  hesitation,  and  disappointment. 
This  still  increased  the  confusion  of  Ruth  ;  but  under  its  enchanting 
influence,  she  seemed  to  grow  every  moment  more  radiant.  Under 
the  influence  of  this  impression,  Mrs.  May  said,  "  Is  mere  youthful- 
ness  an  objection  ?" 

"  By  no  means,  madam,"  returned  Mr.  Arlington,  "I  —  I  was 
only — "  He  fairly  stammered  in  his  confusion.  It  is  strange  how 
hard,  under  some  circumstances,  the  most  eloquent  will  struggle  for 
a  word. 

And  was  it  because  he  doubted  the  capacity  of  the  young  appli- 
cant, that  Mr.  Arrington  lingered  hour  after  hour,  as  one  charmed — 
ay,  completely  enchained  ?  It  could  not  be  so  ;  for  with  such  exam- 
ination as  a  few  moments  gave,  his  professional  scruples  were  satis- 
fied ;  yet  still  he  lingered.  It  was  as  if,  instead  of  the  humble  hab- 
itation of  a  poor  woman,  seeking  labor  whereby  to  earn  bread,  he 
had  suddenly  found  himself  in  Elysium  ;  and  he  yielded  without  re- 
sistance to  the  sweet  fascination  of  his  surprise.  As  he  conversed 
with  Ruth,  her  rich  natural  gifts,  refined  and  exalted  by  a  most  ju- 
dicious and  generous  culture,  beamed  out,  one  after  another,  from  the 
sweet  veil  of  rare  modesty  that  enhanced  their  charms,  like  angel 
eyes,  or  stars  that  shine  through  the  twilight,  soft,  tender,  and  bash- 
ful, yet  truly  prophesying  of  their  coming  glory. 

A  managing  mother  might,  and  would,  have  foreseen  in  all  this, 


348  THE    HESPERIAN. 

the  approaching  son-in-law ;  but  Mrs.  May  was  not  a  managing 
mother ;  yet  she  felt  that  this  must  be  the  right  person,  and  that  an 
engagement,  honorable  and  happy  for  all  parties,  would  be  formed. 
She  devoutly  believed  that  the  whole  was  fore-ordered  by  a  Divine 
Providence,  and  to  this  blissful  thought  she  surrendered  herself. 
Under  its  inspiring  influence,  she,  too,  looked  and  said  her  best. 
Never  was  she  more  happy  in  thought  and  expression,  even  in  her 
brightest  days ;  and  she  had  always  been  most  brilliant  and  fascinat- 
ing. It  is  not  surprising,  then,  that  Mr.  Arrington  felt  himself  in  the 
presence  of  the  two  most  charming  women  he  had  ever  met — if,  in- 
deed, he  did  look  upon  Ruth  as  a  woman,  and  not  some  incarnation 
of  divine  loveliness,  altogether  super-feminine. 

There  are  certain  mental  affinities,  which,  like  the  chemical,  are 
attracted  by,  and  flow  into  each  other  naturally.  In  other  words, 
certain  persons  act  and  react  on  each  other,  electrically  ;  and  so  it 
was  with  the  little  group  thus  brought  together.  Mutual  confidence, 
in  such  cases,  is  as  much  a  matter  of  course,  as  the  breaking  out  of 
the  sunshine  when  the  clouds  are  withdrawn  ;  or  a  union  of  conflu- 
ent streams.  They  had  not  been  conversing  one  hour,  before  the 
whole  story  of  Mrs.  May  and  Ruth,  with  the  exception  of  the  single 
revolting  point  in  the  history  of  the  latter,  was  laid  before  Mr.  Ar- 
rington, frankly,  as  if  he  had  been  a  son  and  brother.  They  told  him 
freely  of  their  disappointments,  sorrows,  and  struggles  in  life ;  while 
he,  as  freely,  unfolded  to  them  the  discomfort  of  boarding-houses, 
and  many  of  the  vexations  of  his  bachelor  condition — or,  I  should 
say,  he  finished  with  these  ;  for  he  gave  them  a  history  of  his  youth 
— which  had  been  one  of  great  hardship  and  trial — the  common 
means  of  education  not  having  been  afforded  him. 

But  as  Ruth  looked  on  his  manly  form,  and  listened  to  the  felici- 
tous flow  of  his  singular  eloquence,  she  could  not  forbear  thinking, 
that  now  he  carried  letters  patent  of  nobility,  which  to  her,  at  least, 
were  indisputable.  Hours  flew,  as  if  they  had  stolen  the  wings  of 
moments  ;  but  Time,  the  envious  churl,  at  length  brought  night,  as 
he  had  often  done  before,  most  untimely  ;  and  then,  with  the  sudden 
recollection  of  several  broken  engagements  pressing  upon  him  at  once, 
and  the  thought  of  one  very  important  one,  which  might  yet  be  re- 
deemed, Mr.  Arrington  made  a  hurried  adieu. 

No  specific  arrangement  had  been  made,  though  it  seemed  to  bo 
understood,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  they  should  be.     And,  truly, 


Ruth  May.  349 

with  the  very  earliest  seasonable  hour  of  the  next  morning,  came 
back  Mr.  Arlington  ;  with  an  ill-disguised  fear,  that  by  having  neg- 
lected to  seal  the  engagement,  he  might  have  lost  the  new-found  gem 
which  would  so  greatly  enrich  his  cabinet.  Nay,  he  considered  her 
rather  as  the  pearl  of  great  price,  which,  having  found,  he  would  joy- 
fully sell  all  that  he  had  to  purchase  it. 

And,  moreover,  he  had  suddenly  arrived  at  the  conviction,  that 
his  sheer  comfort  demanded  that  he  should  set  up  a  board  and  altar 
for  himself ;  and  therefore  it  was  that  he  made  serious  proposals — 
not  to  Ruth,  my  fair  young  reader,  but  to  her  mother,  that  she  should 
become  his  housekeeper — a  person  for  whom  he  had  been  long  seek- 
ing— in  his  own  mind,  at  least.  How  delightful  such  an  arrange- 
ment would  be  ;  and  all  parties  were  so  truthful  and  so  confiding  in 
each  other,  they  could  not  forbear  saying  so. 

The  village  of is  one  of  the  most  charming  and  picturesque 

on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  ;  and  thither  Mrs.  May  and  her  daugh- 
ter were  soon  removed,  when  they  took  possession  of  a  charming 
little  cottage,  commanding  one  of  the  finest  views  on  that  noble 
stream.  This  was  just  at  the  opening  of  spring  ;  and  truly  did  that 
happy  summer  wear  for  Ruth,  wings  of  woven  bloom  and  music,  as 
if  birds  and  flowers  had  become  conscious  intelligences,  and  minis- 
tered to  her  innocent  joy.  Her  varied  talents  and  accomplishments, 
together  with  her  sweet  temper,  and  happy  art  of  imparting  to 
others  whatever  interested  herself,  had  contributed  to  give  the  sem- 
inary of  Mr.  Arrington  a  higher  and  wider  reputation  than  it  had 
ever  enjoyed  before.  But  in  the  good  Providence  which  now  appar- 
ently governed  her  fortune,  it  was  ordered  that  she  should  not  long 
retain  this  situation  ;  and  although  Mrs.  May  had  imparted  her  own 
character  of  elegant  taste  and  beautiful  repose  to  the  cottage  home, 
yet  still,  Mr.  Arrington  had  a  fancy  for  a  younger  and  a  fairer  house- 
keeper. 

On  the  day  before  her  marriage,  which  has  doubtless  been  already 
anticipated,  Ruth  had  a  long  and  confidential  talk  with  her  mother  ; 
at  the  close  of  which,  she  said  :  "  I  will  not  deny  that  I  had  become 
attached  to  Mr.  Spenser.  He  was  highly  esteemed  by  my  father,  and 
I  took  it  for  granted  he  was  a  worthy  man.  But  believe  me,  dearest 
mother,  it  was  more  for  your  sake,  than  mine,  that  I  was  persuaded 
to  marry  him.  I  never  had  that  exalted  respect,  that  true  sympathy, 
that  feeling  of  unity  for  him,  which  I  believe  are  essential  elements 


350 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


of  a  true  marriage.  I  was  often  oppressed  by  the  idea,  that  I  was 
going  to  commit  a  great  sin,  by  thus  giving  my  hand  to  one  for  whom 
there  was  such  a  reserve,  such  a  doubt  in  my  heart  ;  but  I  took  infi- 
nite pains  to  convince  myself,  that  the  motive  would  justify  the  act. 
Ah,  how  truly  am  I  now  convinced  of  my  error  ;  and  how  entirely 
different  is  every  feeling,  every  sentiment,  which  makes  me  one  with 
the  worthy  man  who  has  chosen  me.  Here,  taste  and  affection,  mind 
and  heart,  hope  and  faith,  all  fold  their  wings  so  gently  in  the  heart, 
and  nestle  there  so  softly,  warmly,  dearly,  in  the  perfect  joy  of  their 
own  sweet  assurance ;  while  reason  and  instinct  both  tell  me  that 
this,  and  nothing  short  of  this,  is  marriage." 

Soon  after  it  was  sneeringly  said  by  the  Bennetts  and  Spensers 
that  Ruth  May  had  married  a  schoolmaster — as  if  the  profession  of 
teaching  were  not  the  most  responsible  and  august  under  heaven. 
But  the  social  sphere  which  was  thus  opened  to  our  heroine,  the 
Bennetts — with  all  their  wealth — were  not  permitted  to  enter;  for  it 
was  composed  of  the  very  elite  of  New  York  and  its  vicinity.  Mr. 
Arrington,  however,  was  destined  to  a  wider,  if  not  a  higher,  sphere 
of  action.  Soon  after  his  marriage,  a  professorship  in  a  western  Uni- 
versity was  offered  him  ;  and  thither  he  removed  with  his  beautiful 
young  wife,  and  still  elegant  mother-in-law.  A  few  years  after,  on 
the  death  of  the  president  of  that  institution,  he  was  unanimously 
chosen  to  fill  the  vacant  chair ;  and  thus  Ruth  and  her  mother  were 
placed  in  the  bosom  of  a  refined  and  intelligent  society,  which  they 
were  alike  fitted  to  enjoy,  and  adorn.  The  character  of  the  latter 
was,  of  course,  fixed ;  nor  was  that  of  the  former  changed  by  the 
outward  exaltation.  She  was  just  the  same  gentle,  true,  generous 
and  simple-hearted  being  she  had  ever  been  ;  only  that  her  fine  pow- 
ers were  now  developed  under  more  favorable  circumstances,  and 
were  better  appreciated  than  they  had  been  before.  She  was  not 
merely  the  parasite,  the  toy,  the  idol  of  her  husband,  but  his  com- 
panion and  friend ;  the  sharer  of  his  highest  thoughts,  the  solace  of 
his  cares,  and  the  sweet  minister  in  those  not  less  sacred  domestic 
offices  which  are  so  endearing,  both  in  the  bestowal,  and  in  the  just 
appreciation.  Such  is  the  true  wife,  the  home-angel,  from  whose 
benign  sphere  the  true  heart  and  intelligent  mind  can  never  go  astray. 

Almost  the  first  news  that  reached  them,  after  the  settlement  in 
their  new  home,  was  of  the  Bennetts.  It  appeared  that  Mr.  Spenser, 
on  his  marriage,  though  reputed  wealthy,  was,  by  his  private  ex- 


Ruth  May.  351 

cesses,  completely  bankrupt.  But  he  had  obtained  a  wonderful  power 
over  the  mind  of  his  father-in-law ;  and,  under  the  infatuating  idea 
of  enormous  profits,  persuaded  that  gentleman  to  place  at  his  dis- 
posal all  the  hoarded  ingots,  which  he  had  ground  the  faces  of  so 
many  poor  to  accumulate.  The  proposed  speculation  proved  unfor- 
tunate. Mr.  Bennett,  on  finding  himself  thus  suddenty  reduced  to 
poverty,  became  insane ;  and,  with  a  fragment  of  the  wreck,  was 
supported  in  a  public  asylum  for  that  most  unfortunate  class  of  per- 
sons. Mr.  Spenser  had  fallen  into  the  most  dissolute  habits ;  and  his 
poor  crushed  wife,  after  dragging  out  three  years  of  misery,  left  him, 
with  her  two  children,  and  returned  to  her  mother.  The  youngest 
daughter,  at  this  crisis,  married  a  respectable  farmer,  and  removed  to 
a  small  tract  of  land  only  a  few  miles  from  the  residence  of  Ruth. 
Being  of  a  more  generous  disposition  than  any  other  members  of  the 
family,  they  took  with  them  their  mother,  their  oldest  sister,  and 
Mrs.  Spenser,  with  her  two  children  ;  for,  as  the  young  husband  said, 
in  that  new  and  wide  country  there  was  work  enough  for  all. 

Mrs.  Arrington  lost  no  time  in  calling  on  them,  and  not  only  gave 
them  very  sensible  advice  in  regard  to  their  affairs,  but  also  rendered 
them  very  generous  aid.  The  eldest  daughter,  being  really  ingenious, 
took  a  shop  in  the  town,  and  established  herself  as  a  dress-maker  ; 
and  Mrs.  Bennett  herself  was  thankful  to  procure  any  plain  sewing 
of  the  coarser  kinds,  which  Ruth  did  not  fail  to  furnish  her  with,  at 
much  more  generous  prices  than  she  had  ever  given.  Thus,  in  this 
republican  land,  are  the  tables  often  turned ;  and,  to  say  nothing  of 
right  principle,  it  is  certainly  good  policy  to  be  kind  to  all :  for  every- 
thing is  whirling,  and  in  the  next  evolution  we  know  not  whose  head 
may  come  uppermost. 


Kindness  its  own  Reward. — Good  and  friendly  conduct  may  meet 
with  an  unworthy,  with  an  ungrateful  return  ;  but  the  absence  of 
gratitude  on  the  part  of  the  receiver  cannot  destroy  the  self-appro- 
bation which  recompenses  the  giver.  We  may  scatter  the  seeds  of 
courtesy  and  kindness  around  us  at  little  expense.  Some  of  them 
will  inevitably  fall  on  good  ground,  and  grow  up  into  benevolence 
in  the  minds  of  others,  and  all  of  them  will  bear  the  fruit  of  happi- 
ness in  the  bosom  whence  they  spring.  A  kindly  action  always  fixes 
itself  on  the  heart  of  the  truly  thoughtful  man. 
3 


352  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

My  Mother's  Last  Prayer. — "  May  God  protect  thee,  my  little 
one,"  said  my  mother,  as  I  stood  by  her  dying  bed.  There  was  a  soft 
tremor  in  her  fainting  voice,  which  checked  the  joyous  laugh  that 
trembled  on  my  lip,  as  I,  in  childish  joyfulness,  shook  the  pale  hand 
of  my  dying  parent  from  my  head,  and  buried  my  brow  in  the  rich 
mass  of  bright  hair  which  floated  over  her  pillow.  Again  her  sweet 
voice  sighed  forth,  "  Lead  her  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  her 
from  evil."  I  raised  my  face  from  its  beautiful  resting  place,  and, 
young  as  I  was,  felt  the  influence  of  a  mother's  prayer.  Her  lips  still 
moved,  and  her  deep  blue  eyes  were  bent  on  me  as  if  they  would  have 
left  one  of  their  bright,  unearthly  rays,  as  a  seal  to  her  death-bed  cov- 
enant, but  she  spoke  not  again ;  the  last  eiFort  of  nature  had  uttered 
that  prayer,  and  she  lived  not  to  breathe  another.  I  have  every  reason 
to  believe  that  God  has,  in  a  great  degree,  caused  that  prayer  to  be 
instrumental  in  gaining  its  own  answer  ;  for  often,  when  the  heed- 
lessness of  childhood  and  youth  would  have  led  me  into  errors,  has 
the  sweet  voice,  now  hushed  forever,  intermingled  itself  with  my 
thoughts,  and,  like  the  rosy  link  of  a  fairy  chain,  drawn  me  from  my 
purpose.  Oft,  when  my  brow  has  been  wreathed  with  flowers  for 
the  festival,  when  my  cheek  has  been  flushed,  and  my  eye  sparkled 
with  anticipated  pleasure,  have  I  caught  the  reflection  of  that  eye  in 
the  mirror,  and  thought  it  resembled  my  mother's,  her  last  maternal 
supplication  to  heaven  has  come  back  to  my  memory  ;  the  clustering 
roses  have  been  torn  from  my  head ;  sober  sadness  has  chased  the 
natural  glow  from  my  cheek  and  the  sight  from  my  eye,  and  my 
thoughts  have  been  carried  back  to  my  last  parent,  and  from  her  to 
the  heaven  she  inhabits  ;  the  festival,  and  all  its  attractions,  have  been 
forgotten,  and  I  have  been  "delivered  from  temptation."  Again, 
when  the  sparkling  wine  cup  has  almost  bathed  my  lips,  has  the  last 
prayer  of  my  mother  seemed  to  mingle  with  its  contents,  and  it  has 
remained  untasted.  When  my  hand  has  rested  in  that  of  the  dishon- 
orable, and  trembled  at  the  touch  of  him  that  says  in  his  heart,  "  there 
is  no  God,"  has  that  voice  seemed  to  flow  with  his  fascinating  accents  ; 
I  have  listened  to  it,  and  fled  as  if  from  a  serpent  of  my  native  forests. 
Never  have  I  received  any  great  good,  escaped  any  threatening  evil, 
or  been  delivered  from  any  temptation,  but  I  have  imputed  it  to  the 
effects  of  my  mother 's  last  prayer. 

The  worst  atheists  are  not  those  who  deny  the  existence  of  a  Deity, 
but  those  who  arrogate  to  themselves  His  attributes. 


TO-DAY    AND    TO-MORROW. 


BY   C.    H.   DORR. 


Time  is  our  ruler,  and  each  step  he  takes, 

Some  hope  he  blesses,  or  some  hope  he  breaks; 

Yet  if  we  could  but  wisely,  clearly  see, 

Amid  all  sorrows  many  joys  there  be: 

But,  blindly  still,  we  often  heed  them  not, 

To  cast  them  by,  and  curse  our  hapless  lot. 

Thus  in  the  future  only  seek  for  joys, 

And  treat  the  present,  as  a  child  his  toys. 

Oh  !  insane  folly  of  our  throbbing  hearts, 

That  mourn  dead  hopes  while  living  joy  departs  ; 

A  foolish  madness  that  we  cannot  know, 

How  constant  blessings  from  the  present  flow. 

Each  hour  stands  sentinel,  and  has  its  place, 
To  take  our  pass-word  and  to  check  our  race. 
Along  time's  front  in  ceaseless  march  are  they, 
And  fleeting  on  like  shadows  pass  away. 
Then  in  the  present  let  us  wisdom  learn, 
And  mourn  no  past  that  never  can  return. 
Let  us  thus  seize  the  present  good  possessed, 
Nor  wait  the  future,  that  we  may  be  blessed. 
To-day,  at  least,  its  joys  are  all  our  own, 
To-morrow  cometh,  but  its  joys  unknown. 
For  joy  or  woe  to  our  free  choice  oft  given, 
We  make  our  Hell,  and  cast  aside  our  Heaven. 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  FORESTS 


BY   AUDUBON. 


With  what  pleasure  have  I  seated  myself  by  the  blazing  fire  of  some 
lonely  cabin,  when  faint  with  fatigue,  and  chilled  with  the  piercing- 
blast,  I  had  forced  my  way  to  it  through  the  drifted  snows  that  cov- 
ered the  face  of  the  country  as  with  a  mantle.  The  affectionate 
mother  is  hushing  her  dear  babe  to  repose,  while  a  group  of  sturdy 
children  surround  their  father,  who  has  just  returned  from  the  chase, 
and  deposited  on  the  rough  flooring  of  his  hut  the  varied  game  which 


354  THE    HESPERIAN. 

he  has  procured.  The  great  back-log,  that  with  some  difficulty  has 
been  rolled  into  the  ample  chimney,  urged,  as  it  were,  by  lighted 
pieces  of  pine,  sends  forth  a  blaze  of  light  over  the  happy  family. 
The  dogs  of  the  hunter  are  already  licking  away  the  trickling  waters 
of  the  thawing  icicles  that  sparkle  over  their  shaggy  coats,  and  the 
comfort -loving  cat  is  busied  in  passing  her  furry  paws  over  each  ear, 
or  with  her  rough  tongue  smoothing  her  glossy  coat. 

How  delightful  to  me  has  it  been,  when,  kindly  received  and  hos- 
pitably treated  under  such  a  roof,  by  persons  whose  means  were  as 
scanty  as  their  generosity  was  great,  I  have  entered  into  conversa- 
tion with  them  respecting  subjects  of  interest  to  me,  and  received 
gratifying  information.  When  the  humble  but  plentiful  repast  was 
ended,  the  mother  would  take  from  the  shelf  the  Book  of  books,  and 
mildly  request  the  attention  of  her  family  while  the  father  read  aloud 
a  chapter.  Then  to  heaven  would  ascend  their  humble  prayers,  and 
a  good-night  would  be  bidden  to  all  friends  far  and  near.  How  com- 
fortably have  I  laid  my  weary  frame  on  the  buffalo  hide,  and  covered 
me  with  the  furry  skin  of  some  huge  bear !  How  pleasing  have  been 
my  dreams  of  home  and  happiness,  as  I  there  lay  secure  from  dan- 
ger, and  sheltered  from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather. 

I  recollect  that  once,  while  in  the  State  of  Maine,  I  passed  such 
a  night  as  I  have  described.  Next  morning,  the  face  of  nature  was 
obscured  by  the  heavy  rains  that  fell  in  torrents,  and  my  generous 
host  begged  me  to  remain,  in  such  pressing  terms,  that  I  was  well- 
contented  to  accept  his  offer.  Breakfast  over,  the  business  of  the  day 
commenced — the  spinning-wheels  went  round,  and  the  boys  em- 
ployed themselves,  one  in  searching  for  knowledge,  another  in  at- 
tempting to  solve  some  ticklish  arithmetical  problem.  In  a  corner 
lay  the  dogs,  dreaming  of  plunder,  while  close  to  the  ashes  stood 
grimalkin,  seriously  purring  in  concert  with  the  wheels.  The  hunter 
and  I  seated  ourselves  each  on  a  stool,  while  the  matron  looked  after 
her  domestic  arrangements. 

"  Pass,"  quoth  the  dame,  "  get  away  ;  you  told  me  last  night  of 
this  day's  rain,  and  I  fear  you  may  now  give  us  worse  news  with 
trickish  pawxs."  Puss  accordingly  went  off,  leaped  on  a  bed,  and, 
rolling  herself  in  a  ball,  composed  herself  for  a  comfortable  nap.  I 
asked  the  husband  what  his  wife  meant  by  what  she  had  just  said. 
"  The  good  woman,"  said  he,  "  has  some  curious  notions  at  times  ; 
and  she  believes,  I  think,  in  the  ways  of  animals  of  all  kinds.     Now, 


The  Burning  of  the  Forests.  355 

her  talk  to  the  cat  refers  to  the  fires  of  the  woods  around  us ;  and, 
although  they  have  happened  long  ago,  she  fears  them  quite  as  much 
as  ever :  and  indeed  she,  and  I,  and  all  of  us,  have  good  reason  to 
dread  them,  as  they  have  brought  us  many  calamities."  Having  read 
of  the  great  fires  to  which  my  host  alluded,  and  frequently  observed 
with  sorrow  the  mournful  state  of  the  forests,  I  felt  anxious  to  know 
something  of  the  causes  by  which  these  direful  effects  had  been  pro- 
duced. I  therefore  requested  him  to  give  me  an  account  of  the  events 
resulting  from  those  fires  which  he  had  witnessed.  Willingly  he  at 
once  went  on,  nearly  as  follows  : — 

"  About  twenty-five  years  ago,  the  larch,  or  hacmatack  trees, 
were  nearly  all  killed  by  insects.  This  took  place  in  what  hereabouts 
is  called  the  '  black  soft-growth  land'  ;  that  is,  the  spruce,  pine,  and 
all  other  firs.  The  destruction  of  the  trees  was  effected  by  the  insect 
cutting  the  leaves,  and,  you  must  know,  that  although  other  trees 
are  not  killed  by  the  loss  of  their  leaves,  the  evergreens  always  are. 
Some  few  years  after  this  destruction  of  the  larch,  the  same  insect 
attacked  the  spruce,  pines,  and  other  firs,  in  such  a  manner  that  before 
half  a  dozen  years  were  over,  they  began  to  fall  and  tumble  in  every 
direction — they  covered  the  whole  country  with  matted  masses.  You 
may  suppose  that,  when  partially  dried  or  seasoned,  they  would  prove 
capital  fuel,  as  well  as  supplies  for  the  devouring  flames  which  acci- 
dentally, or,  perhaps,  by  intention,  afterward  raged  over  the  country, 
and  continued  burning  at  intervals  for  years,  in  many  places  stopping 
all  communication  by  the  roads ;  the  resinous  nature  of  the  firs  being, 
of  course,  best  fitted  to  insure  and  keep  up  the  burning  of  the  deep 
beds  of  dry  leaves,  or  of  the  other  trees."  Here  I  begged  him  to 
give  me  some  idea  of  the  form  of  the  insects  which  had  caused  such 
havoc. 

"  The  insects,"  said  he,  "  were,  in  their  caterpillar  form,  about 
three-quarters  of  an  inch  in  length,  and  as  green  as  the  leaves  of  the 
trees  they  fed  on,  when  they  committed  their  ravages.  I  must  tell 
you,  also,  that  in  most  of  the  places  over  which  the  fire  passed,  a 
new  growth  of  wood  has  always  sprung  up,  of  what  we  lumberers 
call  hard- wood,  which  consists  of  all  other  sorts  but  pine  or  fir ;  and 
I  have  always  remarked,  that  wherever  the  first  natural  growth  of  a 
forest  is  destroyed,  either  by  the  ax,  the  hurricane,  or  the  fire,  there 
springs  up  spontaneously  another  of  quite  a  different  kind."  I  again 
stopped  my  host,  to  inquire  if  he  knew  the  method  or  nature  of  the 
first  kindling  of  the  fires. 


356  THE    HESPERIAN. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  he,  "  there  are  different  opinions  about  this. 
Many  believe  that  the  Indians  did  it,  either  to  be  the  better  able  to 
kill  the  game,  or  to  punish  their  enemies  the  pale-faces.  My  opin- 
ion, however,  is  different ;  and  I  derive  it  from  my  experience  in  the 
woods  as  a  lumberer.  I  have  always  thought  that  the  fires  began 
by  the  accidental  fall  of  a  dry  trunk  against  another ;  when  their  rub- 
bing together,  especially  as  many  of  them  are  covered  with  resin, 
would  produce  fire.  The  dry  leaves  on  the  ground  are  at  once  kin- 
dled, next  the  twigs  and  branches,  when  nothing  but  the  intervention 
of  the  Almighty  could  stop  the  progress  of  the  fire. 

"  In  some  instances,  owing  to  the  wind,  the  destructive  element 
approached  the  dwellings  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  woods  so  rapidly 
that  it  was  difficult  for  them  to  escape.  In  some  parts,  indeed,  hun- 
dreds of  families  were  obliged  to  flee  from  their  homes,  leaving  all 
they  had  behind  them  ;  and  here  and  there,  some  of  the  affrighted 
fugitives  were  burnt  alive." 

At  this  moment  a  rush  of  wind  came  down  the  chimney,  blowing 
the  blaze  of  the  fire  toward  the  room.  The  wife  and  daughter,  imag- 
ining for  a  moment  that  the  woods  were  again  on  fire,  made  for  the 
door ;  but  the  husband  explaining  the  cause  of  their  terror,  they 
resumed  their  work. 

"  Poor  things,"  said  the  lumberer  ;  "  I  dare  say  that  what  I  have 
told  you  brings  sad  recollections  to  the  minds  of  my  wife  and  eldest 
daughter,  who,  with  myself,  had  to  fly  from  our  home  at  the  time  of 
the  great  fires." 

I  felt  so  interested  in  this  relation  of  the  causes  of  the  burnings, 
that  I  asked  him  to  describe  to  me  the  particulars  of  his  misfortunes 
at  that  time.  "  If  Providence  and  Polly,"  said  he,  looking  toward 
his  wife  and  daughter,  "  will  promise  to  sit  still,  should  another  puff 
of  smoke  come  down  the  chimney,  I  will  do  so."  The  good-natured 
smile  with  which  he  accompanied  this  remark,  elicited  a  return  from 
the  woman,  and  he  proceeded  : — 

"  It  is  a  difficult  thing,  sir,  to  describe  ;  but  I  will  do  my  best  to 
make  your  time  pass  pleasantly.  We  were  sound  asleep  one  night, 
in  a  cabin  about  a  hundred  miles  from  this,  when,  about  two  hours 
before  day,  the  snorting  of  the  horses  and  lowing  of  the  cattle  which 
I  had  ranging  in  the  woods,  suddenly  awakened  us.  I  took  my  rifle, 
and  went  to  the  door  to  see  what  beast  had  caused  the  hubbub,  when 
I  was  struck  by  the  glare  of  light  reflected  on  all  the  trees  about  me, 


The  Burning  of  the  Forests.  357 

as  far  as  I  could  see  through  the  woods.  My  horses  were  leaping 
about,  snorting  loudly,  and  the  cattle  ran  among  them  with  their 
tails  raised  straight  over  their  backs.  On  going  to  the  back  of  the 
house,  I  plainly  heard  the  crackling  made  by  the  burning  brushwood, 
and  saw  the  flames  coming  toward  us  in  a  far-extended  line.  I  ran 
to  the  house,  told  my  wife  to  dress  herself  and  the  child,  as  quickly 
as  possible,  and  take  the  little  money  we  had,  while  I  managed  to 
catch  and  saddle  the  two  best  horses.  All  this  was  done  in  a  very 
short  time,  for  I  guessed  that  every  moment  was  precious  to  us. 

"  We  mounted,  and  rode  off  from  the  fire.  My  wife,  who  is  an 
excellent  rider,  stuck  close  to  me  ;  my  daughter,  who  was  then  a 
small  child,  I  took  in  my  arms.  When  making  off,  as  I  said,  I  looked 
back  and  saw  that  the  frightful  blaze  was  close  upon  us,  and  had 
already  laid  hold  of  the  house.  By  good  luck,  there  was  a  horn  at- 
tached to  my  hunting-clothes,  and  I  blew  it  to  bring  after  us,  if  pos- 
sible, the  remainder  of  my  live  stock,  as  well  as  the  dogs.  The  cat- 
tle followed  for  awhile  ;  but  before  an  hour  had  elapsed,  they  all  ran 
as  if  mad,  through  the  woods :  and  that,  sir,  was  the  last  of  them. 
My  dogs,  too,  although  at  all  other  times  extremely  tractable,  ran 
after  the  deer  that  in  bodies  sprang  before  us,  as  if  fully  aware  of  the 
death  that  was  so  rapidly  approaching. 

"  We  heard  blasts  from  the  horns  of  our  neighbors,  as  we  pro- 
ceeded, and  knew  that  they  were  in  the  same  predicament.  Intent 
on  striving  to  the  uttermost  to  preserve  our  lives,  I  thought  of  a  large 
lake  some  miles  off,  which  might  possibly  check  the  flames ;  and, 
urging  my  wife  to  whip  up  her  horse,  we  set  off  at  full  speed,  making 
the  best  way  we  could  over  the  fallen  trees  and  the  brush  heaps, 
which  lay  like  so  many  articles  placed  on  purpose  to  keep  up  the 
terrific  fires  that  advanced  with  a  broad  front  upon  us. 

"  By  this  time  we  could  feel  the  heat ;  and  we  were  afraid  that 
our  horses  would  drop  every  instant.  A  singular  kind  of  breeze  was 
passing  over  our  heads,  and  the  glare  of  the  atmosphere  shone  over 
the  daylight.  I  was  sensible  of  a  slight  faintness,  and  my  wife  looked 
pale.  The  heat  had  produced  such  a  flush  in  the  child's  face,  that 
wThen  she  turned  to  either  of  us,  our  grief  and  perplexity  were  greatly 
increased.  Ten  miles,  you  know,  are  soon  gone  over  on  swift  horses  ; 
but,  notwithstanding  this,  when  we  reached  the  borders  of  the  lake, 
covered  with  sweat  and  quite  exhausted,  our  hearts  failed  us.  The 
heat  of  the  smoke  was  insufferable,  and  sheets  of  blazing  fire  flew 
over  us  in  a  manner  beyond  belief. 


358  THE    HESPERIAN. 

"  We  reached  the  shores,  however,  coasted  the  lake  for  awhile,  and 
got  round  to  the  lee  side.  There  we  gave  up  our  horses,  which  we 
never  saw  again.  Down  among  the  rushes  we  plunged  by  the  edge 
of  the  water,  and  laid  ourselves  flat,  to  await  the  chance  of  escaping 
from  being  burnt  or  devoured.  The  water  refreshed  us,  and  we  en- 
joyed the  coolness. 

"On  went  the  fire,  rushing  and  crashing  through  the  woods.  Such 
a  sight  may  we  never  see.  The  heavens  themselves,  I  thought,  were 
frightened,  for  all  above  us  was  a  red  glare,  mixed  with  clouds  of 
smoke,  rolling  and  sweeping  away.  Our  bodies  were  cold  enough, 
but  our  heads  were  scorching,  and  the  child,  who  now  seemed  to 
understand  the  matter,  cried  so  as  to  nearly  break  our  hearts. 

"  The  day  passed  on  and  we  became  hungry.  Many  wild  beasts 
came  plunging  into  the  water  beside  us,  and  others  swam  across  to 
our  side  and  stood  still.  Although  faint  and  weary,  I  managed  to 
shoot  a  porcupine,  and  we  all  tasted  its  flesh.  The  night  passed  I 
cannot  tell  you  how.  Smouldering  fires  covered  the  ground,  and  the 
trees  stood  like  pillars  of  fire,  or  fell  across  each  other.  The  stifling 
and  sickening  smoke  still  rushed  over  us,  and  the  burnt  cinders  and 
ashes  fell  thick  about  us.  How  we  got  through  that  night  I  really 
cannot  tell,  or  about  some  of  it  I  remember  nothing." 

Here  the  hunter  paused,  and  took  breath.  The  recital  of  his  ad- 
venture seemed  to  have  exhausted  him.  His  wife  proposed  that  we 
should  have  a  bowl  of  milk,  and  the  daughter  having  handed  it  to 
us,  we  each  took  a  draught. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "I  will  proceed.  Toward  morning,  although 
the  heat  did  not  abate,  the  smoke  became  less,  and  blasts  of  fresh 
air  sometimes  made  their  way  to  us.  When  morning  came,  all  was 
calm,  but  a  dismal  smoke  still  filled  the  air,  and  the  smell  seemed 
worse  than  ever.  We  were  now  cool  enough,  and  shivered  as  if  in 
an  ague-fit ;  so  we  removed  from  the  water,  and  went  up  to  a  burn- 
ing log,  where  we  warmed  ourselves.  What  was  to  become  of  us 
I  did  not  know.  My  wife  hugged  the  child  to  her  breast,  and  wept 
bitterly  ;  but  God  had  preserved  us  through  the  worst  of  the  danger, 
and  the  flames  had  gone  past,  so  I  thought  it  would  be  both  ungrate- 
ful to  him  and  unmanly  to  despair  now. 

''Hunger  once  more  pressed  upon  us,  but  this  was  easily  rem- 
edied. Several  deer  were  still  standing  in  the  water,  up  to  the  head, 
and  I  shot  one  of  them.  Some  of  its  flesh  was  soon  roasted,  and 
after  eating  it,  we  felt  wonderfully  strengthened. 


Inspiration.  359 

"  By  this  time  the  blaze  of  the  fire  was  beyond  our  sight,  although 
the  ground  was  still  burning  in  many  places,  and  it  was  dangerous 
to  go  among  the  burnt  trees.  After  resting  a  while,  we  prepared  to 
commence  our  march.  Taking  up  the  child,  I  led  the  way  over  the 
hot  ground  and  rocks ;  and  after  two  weary  days  and  nights,  during 
which  we  shifted  in  the  best  maimer  we  could,  we  at  last  reached 
the  '  hard-woods,'  which  had  been  free  from  the  fire.  Soon  after  we 
came  to  a  house,  where  we  were  kindly  treated  for  a  while.  Since 
then,  sir,  I  have  worked  hard  and  constantly  as  a  lumberer  ;  but, 
thanks  be  to  God,  here  we  are,  safe,  sound  and  happy !" 


INSPIRATION 


BY    R.    P.    AMBLER. 


God  reigns  on  high  ;  and  from  his  silent  breath 
All  worlds  derive  their  fair  and  perfect  mold ; 

By  this  the  rolling  suns  are  saved  from  death, 
And  robes  of  light  and  beauty  e'er  enfold 

That  boundless  fane,  within  whose  mighty  gates 

The  august  spirit  for  his  children  waits. 

Unheard  by  mortal  ear,  a  voice  descends 

To  swell  the  deep'ning  tide  of  human  thought, 

And  to  the  soul's  divinest  purpose,  lends 

A  holy  strength,  which  earthly  dreams  ne'er  wrought- 

A  voice  that  whispers  from  a  realm  afar, 

Thrilling  each  tiny  leaf  and  trembling  star. 

Inspiring  breath  of  God  !  how  vast  thy  power 

To  pour  the  floods  of  life  through  Nature's  breast ; 

To  clothe  with  light  the  wings  of  every  hour, 
And  make  the  silence — e'en  a  song  of  rest. 

How  sweet  the  fragrance  which  thy  visits  bring 

To  the  lone,  crush'd  soul,  in  its  sorrowing  ! 

Humanity,  'mid  gloom,  and  rags,  and  tears, 
Doth  feel  the  breathings  of  its  Father-Soul ; 

While  from  the  love-toned  lyres  of  distant  spheres, 
Sweet  streams  of  music  through  its  bosom  roll, 

Waking  the  slumbering  harmonies  of  earth, 

To  blend  with  voices  of  immortal  birth. 


THE     SPIEIT     OF    BEAUTY. 


BY   JAMES    A.    DALY. 


Everything  in  the  wide  range  of  the  natural  world  seems  to  have  a 
two-fold  adaptation — utility  and  beauty.  All  the  parts  of  this  mass- 
ive and  magnificent  universe,  after  amply  fulfilling  the  demands  of 
utility,  merge  into  the  finer  lines  and  more  suggestive  features  of  a 
spiritual  beauty.  The  purpose  of  utility  is  obvious,  and  universally 
understood.  The  simple  instincts  of  nature  point  it  out.  Experience 
verifies  and  science  explains  it.  But  the  purpose  of  Beauty — that 
mysterious  spirit  which  pervades  all  created  things,  and  gleams  forth 
with  timid  glances  of  recognition,  is  not  so  generally  appreciated. 
Still,  there  is  in  the  consciousness  of  all  something  like  an  instinct, 
ranging  from  a  vague  sentiment  to  a  partial  belief — a  kind  of  dim 
perception  that  the  soulless  forms  of  matter  are  endowed  with  life 
and  spirit,  and  are  in  some  way  connected  with  the  higher  wants  of 
the  mental  and  moral  nature.  Seasoning  from  the  relations  of  mind 
and  matter,  I  shall  endeavor  to  show  that  the  purpose  of  beauty  in 
the  natural  world,  is  to  lead  the  mind  of  man  up  by  successive  steps 
and  a  harmonious  development,  to  the  purest  seats  of  intellectual  and 
moral  greatness. 

All  created  matter  is  stamped  with  the  impress  of  a  divine  and 
eternal  purpose.  The  leading  expression  of  these  splendid  symbols 
seems  to  be  the  great  law  of  progress.  Everything  in  nature  points 
upward,  seeking  for  ampler  conditions  of  life.  Trees  and  plants — 
all  vegetable  life  struggle  up  into  the  all-surrounding  atmosphere, 
and  draw  thence  its  vigor  and  sweetness.  In  obedience  to  this  great 
law,  mountains  aspire  into  the  wonder-throbbing  sky,  catching  the 
radiance  of  rising  and  setting  suns,  and  making  friendships  with  the 
wind-sped  clouds  which  pause  to  rest  upon  their  summits.  Islands 
climb  in  rugged  grandeur  from  the  depths  of  the  storm-tossed  ocean 
to  claim  kindred  with  sky  and  cloud,  while  the  waves  chant  their 
eternal  anthems  upon  the  smooth  strand,  or  roar  and  rage  in  stormy 
chorus  upon  the  rock-bound  shore.  Continents  stretch  away  through 
broad  belt  and  gleaming  zones,  to  lose  themselves  in  polar  solitudes. 
These  are  types  of  the  human  life,  which  by  an  innate  impulse  seeks 


The  Spirit  of  Beauty.  361 

for  freer  conditions  of  being  and  wider  ranges  of  power.  This  whole 
globe  which  we  inhabit,  is  itself  a  symbol  of  that  spirit  in  man  which 
continually  aspires,  through  various  media  of  knowledge  and  attain- 
ment, to  the  purer  atmosphere  of  moral  beauty.  How  timidly  the 
earth  wheels  in  her  orbit,  girt  by  mightier  sisters  of  the  heavenly 
train  !  How  earnestly  she  pleads  with  all  her  barren  hills  and  thirsty 
plains  for  the  clouds  and  rains  of  winter!  How  beautiful  and  re- 
freshed she  arises  from  the  wintry  depths,  struggles  through  the  va- 
pors of  spring,  and  greets  the  summer  sun  with  rich  verdure,  green 
woods,  melodious  streams  and  beauty-clad  landscapes !  So,  too,  the 
human  mind  is  a  mighty  glowing  orb,  circling  in  an  unmeasured  sys- 
tem. It  has  its  seasons,  its  changes  and  its  refreshings.  Its  highest 
fertility  and  efficiency  is  gained,  only  when  it  is  crowned  with  the 
radiance  of  moral  beauty.  Then  is  its  life  multiplied  and  enriched. 
Look  where  we  will,  we  find  all  things  subservient,  not  only  to 
the  pleasure,  but  also  to  the  permament  profit  of  man's  nobler  nature. 
We  see  the  real  and  tangible  stretching  away  into  the  ideal  and  un- 
attainable. Hovering  around  all  objects  of  sight,  flushing  all  land- 
scapes with  its  beams,  melting  the  harsh  into  the  refined,  mingling 
the  bold  earth-ridges  with  the  delicate  blue  of  upper  sky,  is  an 
almost  sensible  presence — the  spirit  of  Beauty.  For  the  cultured 
human  spirit  she  has  intelligible  language.  Her  features  perpetually 
changing — now  brooding  in  solemn  majesty  upon  hills  and  vales, 
anon  taking  to  herself  the  lighter  garments  of  clouds  and  the  more 
majestic  draperies  of  colors,  her  teachings  are  always  pure,  her  con- 
solations ample,  and  her  companionship  ennobling.  To  the  suscep- 
tible mind,  this  ideal  presence  is  continually  suggesting  larger  hopes 
and  quickening  loftier  aspirations.  Amid  all  the  failures  of  actual 
experience  and  the  fragmentary  results  of  human  endeavors,  she  pre- 
sents an  ideal  of  excellence  pure  and  perfect.  Amid  the  sad  and 
solemn  changes  of  life  she  whispers  of  the  unchanging  and  the  death- 
less. Her  oracles  of  virtue  and  intelligence  are  eveiywhere.  To  the 
harmonized  spirit  of  man  she  is  a  constant  companion  and  an  unerr- 
ing guide.  There  is  no  distant  shore  where  she  doth  not  modulate 
her  songs  to  his  ear,  whether  in  the  soft  key  of  mountain  streams,  or 
the  more  majestic  rhythm  of  the  ocean  wave-chant.  Combining  all 
hights  and  depths  of  harmony,  she  makes  of  this  wide  universe  a 
great  musical  staff,  inscribed  with  humanity's  triumphal  marching 
song — a  song  commencing  with  a  low  deep  key,  rising  gradually  and 


362  THE    HESPERIAN. 

broadening  as  it  rises,  until  it  swells  into  those  pure  notes  which  find 
a  fitting  close  in  Truth  and  God ! 

Surely  not  in  vain  is  all  this  magnificence  created.  Not  in  vain 
during  the  silent  lapse  of  ages  past,  has  this  storm-smitten  earth 
struggled  up  through  rugged  strata  and  slow  stages  of  advancement, 
until  it  has  reached  a  refined  and  intensely  expressive  beauty.  In  all 
the  forms  of  created  things  we  may  read  the  thrilling  truth  that  this 
world,  with  its  laws  and  forces — with  all  its  beauty — was  intended  and 
adapted  for  the  development  of  the  highest,  noblest  type  of  intellect- 
ual and  moral  greatness.  Eead  aright,  and  all  the  objects  of  nature 
which  delight  the  eye,  or  enrapture  the  ear,  or  mirror  themselves  in 
the  depths  of  the  meditative  spirit,  are  adumbrations  of  higher  truths, 
and  are  animated  with  the  secret  of  power.  Oh,  not  in  vain  was 
the  eternal  spirit  of  Beauty  sent  forth  to  watch  over  the  periods  of 
human  life  !  Feebly  would  the  mind  of  man  grope  its  way  through 
the  intricate  windings  of  knowledge  and  the  mysteries  of  art,  with- 
out the  associated  strength  of  its  divinely  commissioned  companion. 
This  heaven-descended  spirit  of  Beauty  is  the  attendant  orb  of  the 
human  spirit  in  its  mightier  ranges  of  power.  Like  the  moon  attend- 
ant upon  the  earth,  shedding  a  loving  light  upon  its  lonely  path,  and 
marshaling  its  sluggish  ocean  tides,  so  the  sister  spirit  of  Beauty  ten- 
derly embraces  the  human  character,  fills  the  dark  gulfs  of  surround- 
ing space  with  a  calm,  pure  light,  softens  its  bold,  rugged  features, 
and  thrills  the  mysterious  tides  of  the  inner  life  with  the  rapture  and 
music  of  motion. 


FORGOTTEN  ON  EARTH,  REMEMBERED  IN  HEAVEN. 


BY  ANNA  K.  H.  FADER. 


Ay  !  but  to  die  and  be  forgotten  !  to 
Lie  down,  with  this  bright  world  rejoicing  all 
Around  us,  and  to  know  we  ne'er  again 
Shall  mingle  with  the  busy  crowds  of  earth, 
Shall  never  feel  again  the  warm  embrace 
Of  loving  hearts  ;  shall  hear  no  more  the  kind 
And  gentle  tones  of  those  we  call  our  friends, 
That  even  those  who  love  us  best,  will  soon 
Forget  that  we  were  once  so  dear,  and  leave 
Our  pallid  forms  to  slumber  on,  in  cold 


Forgotten  on  Earth.  363 


a 


Forgetfulness  !     And  there  the  forms  that  late 
Were  bright  with  life,  and  radiant  with  love, 
Shall  crumble,  and  return  to  their  primeval 
Dust,  and  flowers  that  bloom  around,  shall  thence 
Derive  their  nourishment,  or  winds  of  heaven 
Shall  strew  it  o'er  the  new-made  resting  place 
Of  other  lifeless  forms,  and  death-still'd  hearts. 

And  yon  bright  sun  will  rise  and  set  the  same, 

Yon  pearly  moon  in  glory  wax  and  wane 

As  she  has  done,  in  monthly  circles,  since 

Her  radiance  first  illum'd  her  azure  throne  ; 

And  stars,  the  holy  stars  !  shall  still  shine  on, 

To  purify  the  thoughts  of  those  who  gaze, 

And  breathe  their  music  to  the  raptur'd  ear, 

While  those  who  lov'd  them  well,  avIio  drank  their  glory 

In  with  wild  delight,  shall  cease  to  be 

Remember'd  on  the  earth,  or  in  one  heart. 

Ay,  but  to  live  and  be  remembered  there, 

In  that  bright  world,  which  needeth  not  the  sun, 

Nor  moon,  nor  stars,  for  God,  th'  Eternal  God, 

And  his  co-equal  Son,  Immanuel, 

Shall  be  its  central  glory  evermore ; 

That  radiant  world,  whose  pure  inhabitants 

Shall  come  from  eastern  climes,  from  west  and  north, 

And  south,  and  sit  in  honor 'd  company 

With  Abraham,  with  Isaac,  and  with  Jacob, 

There  to  shine,  as  stars  in  yonder  firmament, 

Forever  and  forever,  in  undimm'd 

And  fadeless  luster  ;  while  their  hymning  bands 

Shall  strike  a  sweeter  lay,  a  song  more  rife 

With  bliss,  yet  half  unutterable  ! 

Oh,  then  who  would  not  be  content  to  die  ! 
Yes,  to  lie  down  in  death's  undreaming  sleep, 
E'en  though  we  go  without  an  earthly  tear, 
If  we  can  wake,  and  rise  triumphant  there, 
And  own  the  pure  unsullied  joys  of  Heaven, 
No  more  to  sigh  o'er  ruin'd  earthly  hopes, 
Or  weep,  in  vain,  o'er  blighted  earthly  flowers  ! 


CAPITAL    PUNISHMENT. 


Madam — I  have  read  this  morning  in  the  Hesperian  of  June,  1862, 
a  paper  on  Capital  Punishment,  by  an  amiable  and  excellent  gentle- 
man, W.  W.  Carpenter,  M.  D.  This  worthy  man  decries  the  use  of 
capital  punishment  as  a  corrective  of  crime  ;  but  yet  I  would  ask 
him,  are  there  not  cases  in  which  it  is  necessary  that  the  laws  of  so- 
ciety should  be  enforced,  even  to  the  taking  of  the  life  of  the  crim- 
inal, as  a  terror  and  example  to  society  ?  Voltaire  long  since  wrote, 
and  justly,  that  a  dead  man  was  of  no  use  to  society ;  and  on  that 
view  of  the  subject,  he  argued  for  the  life  of  the  criminal  being  spared, 
and  his  days  should  be  passed  in  exercising  some  trade  or  calling  with- 
in a  prison,  so  that  he  should  be,  while  still  a  living  member  of  the 
community,  a  laborer  for  their  use  and  benefit. 

Capital  punishment  has  been  a  vexata  questio  for  many  long 
years,  and  has  occupied  the  attention  of  some  of  the  most  able  and 
eminent  writers  throughout  the  civilized  world ;  and  the  subject  is 
still  undecided,  although  now  brought  into  a  very  narrow  compass 
being,  in  almost  every  country  calling  itself  civilized,  reduced  to  the 
punishment  of  murder.  In  some  places,  however,  it  is  still  the  pun- 
ishment where  murder  has  been  intended,  although  the  act  by  which 
it  was  to  have  been  accomplished,  did  not  effect  the  purpose  contem- 
plated ;  as  in  the  case  of  the  conspiracy  against  the  present  Emperor 
of  France,  Louis  Napoleon  Here,  although  great  injury  was 
done  by  the  explosion  of  a  bombshell  intended  for  the  carriage  of  the 
Emperor,  yet  it  fell  short  of  its  object;  for  the  shell  exploded,  dam- 
aging the  carriage,  and  killing  a  horse  or  two,  and,  I  think,  severely 
injuring  one  or  two  of  the  military  guard  who  attended  the  carriage 
on  the  occasion.  But  the  mischief  was  intended  for  the  Emperor 
specially ;  yet  neither  he  or  his  wife  sustained  any  injury,  although, 
perhaps,  alarmed  at  what  had  occurred.  For  this  act,  Orsini  and 
some  others  (Italians)  were  apprehended,  were  tried  and  found  guilty, 
and  sentenced  to  death  ;  and  Orsini,  and,  I  believe,  two  others,  suf- 
fered the  punishment  of  death  accordingly. 

Now,  what  would  Dr.  Carpenter  have  done  in  such  a  case  ?  how 
would  he  have  dealt  with  Orsini  and  his  companions  after  they  were 
arrested  ?     Napoleon  left  them  in  the  hands  of  the  law,  to  be  dealt 


Capital  Punishment.  365 

with  as  the  facts  and  the  law  should  decide.     What  decision  would 
Dr.  Carpenter  come  to  in  such  a  case  ? 

Orsini  was,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  a  gentleman — a  man  of  educa- 
tion and  good  society — therefore  not  entirely  the  man  for  Dr.  Car- 
penter to  operate  upon.  But  I  remember  a  case  some  years  ago — I 
think  it  occurred  in  Lincolnshire  or  in  Cambridgeshire  in  England — 
where  a  peasant  killed  another  peasant,  his  companion,  for  a  pair  of 
boots  hardly  worth  more  than  about  two  and  a-half  dollars ;  and 
when  asked  why  he  should  do  such  a  thing,  the  reason  he  gave  was 
— the  other  had  got  on  a  pair  of  boots  he  wanted,  being  better  than 
his  own. 

Now,  here  is  a  being  in  human  form,  little  better  than  a  brute 
animal — let  me  ask  Dr.  Carpenter,  kindly,  to  tell  me  how  such  ani- 
mals are  to  be  reformed.  With  Orsini,  politics,  amor  Italics,  amor 
patrice,  was  a  powerful  motive — acting  upon  the  Horatian  principle, 
"  Dulce  et  decorum  est  pro  patria  mori'''' — but  the  peasant  is  little  raised 
above  the  brute  animal ;  for  his  motive  was  selfish  and  base,  and  a 
violation  of  the  rights  of  a  man's  own  property. 

Having,  from  a  very  early  period  of  my  life,  been  much  engaged 
professionally  in  criminal  law,  I  have  had  a  few  cases  in  which  pris- 
oners have  been  executed  for  murder.  I  will  just  state  one,  and  Dr. 
Carpenter  must  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  how  he  would  have  dealt 
with  the  offender.  Not  at  present  having  my  papers  at  hand  to  refer 
to,  I  cannot  give  the  exact  date ;  but  it  is  a  case  extremely  well 
known  in  London,  and  is  at  times  referred  to  in  matters  relating  to 

the  Crown  Law  : — A  person  named  G ,  who  had  in  the  earlier 

part  of  his  career  been  a  respectable  man  in  society,  carrying  on  busi- 
iness  in  the  borough  of  South wark — and,  I  believe,  he  was  at  one 
time  one  of  the  parish  officials,  church-warden  or  so — had  been  un- 
successful, and  came  out  to  America,  and  was  for  a  time  at  New 
York,  and  in  other  localities  ;  he  however  returned  to  England,  and 
sought  business  again  in  his  old  neighborhood.    While  here,  he  formed 

an  acquaintance  with  a  widow  of  respectable  conduct,  Mrs.  B , 

and  he  so  ingratiated  himself  with  her  that  he  ventured  to  propose 
marriage.  He  was  a  tall  man,  not  over  stout,  and  had  all  the  appear- 
ance and  demeanor  of  a  respectable  tradesman  in  pretty  fair  circum- 
stances ;  she  was  not  so  tall  as  himself — rather  stout,  rather  above 
forty  years  of  age — and  in  all  outward  signs  seemed  in  circumstances 
equal  to  his  own :  she  thought  he  had  money,  and  he  formed  a  simi- 


366  THE    HESPERIAN. 

lar  opinion  of  her  means.     One  afternoon,  Gr visited  Mrs.  B 

at  her  house,  which  was  situated  in  a  place  where  there  were  very 
few  neighbors  ;  for  keeping  no  shop,  and  having  no  place  of  business, 
she  had  no  occasion  to  reside  where  there  was  a  business  thorough- 
fare always  peopled  the  whole  day  long.  At  this  interview,  their 
conversation  took  a  turn  verging  upon  inquiring  as  to  each  other's 
means  and  circumstances ;  and,  I  believe,  each  found  that  they  had 
been  carrying  on  a  game  of  deception.  This  gave  rise  to  angry  words, 
and  in  a  sudden  fit  of  passion,  a  blow  was  struck  b}^  the  man  which 

knocked  Mrs.  B ,  and  she  fell  over — her  chair  also  falling — and 

the  back  of  her  head  came  in  contact  with  some  hard  substance,  and 
she  lay  completely  stunned  or  dead.  The  house  was  small,  with  a 
little  garden  in  front ;  no  person,  beyond  these  two  individuals,  was 
in  the  house.  Being  staggered  for  the  moment  at  what  had  occurred, 
he  did  not  think  to  run  to  any  neighbor  and  give  the  alarm  ;  but  how 
he  should  dispose  of  the  body  was  all,  at  that  time,  that  engrossed 

his  thought.     It  ended  in  his  cutting  off  Mrs.  B 's  head,  and  her 

legs  ;  and  when  the  evening  set  in,  and  became  dark,  he  managed  to 
carry  all  away,  and  the  house  was  left  deserted.  The  legs  he  threw 
in  some  marshy  ground  some  distance  away,  and  thickly  overspread 
with  stunted  osiers  ;  the  trunk  was  placed  at  a  turnpike  gate  in  an 
unfrequented  road  which  lay  in  another  direction,  and  the  head  wrapt 
up  in  a  pocket-handkerchief  he  carried  under  his  arm  ;  and  getting  into 
an  omnibus,  he  went  down  a  road  in  a  further  direction ;  and  get- 
ting out  by  a  bridge  crossing  a  canal,  the  head  was  dropped  into  the 
water.  There  being  no  blood  oozing  through  the  handkerchief,  the 
head,  resting  on  his  knees  as  he  rode  in  the  omnibus,  appeared  like  a 
loaf  of  bread,  and  excited  no  attention.  Within  forty-eight  hours,  the 
trunk  was  found  by  some  traveler  by  the  turnpike  gate — a  great  out- 
cry was  made  in  the  newspapers.  After  this,  more  alarm  was  created 
by  the  legs  being  found  ;  still  no  head  was  forthcoming,  to  show 

identity  of  any  missing  individual.     The  house  of  Mrs.  B had 

been  entered  by  her  neighbors,  but  there  was  nothing  to  show  a  rob- 
bery had  been  committed,  or  that  she  had  suffered  any  injury.  She 
was,  however,  absent.  But  all  doubt  was  soon  after  dispelled  ;  for 
a  canal  boatman  one  day  with  his  boat-hook  struck  something  in  the 
water  accidentally,  and  his  attention  being  excited,  he  fished  for  it, 
and  finally  got  it  up  ;  and  it  proved  to  be  a  woman's  head.  This 
was  deposited  in  a  proper  place,  and  publicity  given  to  the  circum- 


Capital  Punishment.  367 

stance.  The  head  was  not  decomposed — the  features  of  the  face  were 
all  perfect — there  was  a  bruise  on  the  forehead,  and  there  was  a  cor- 
responding bruise  at  the  back  of  the  head.  Mrs.  B having  dis- 
appeared, some  neighbor  went  to  see  the  head  which  had  been  found, 
which  naturally  was  inferred  to  be  the  head  belonging  to  the  body 
and  legs  which  had  before  been  found  ;  but  as  the  body  is  a  part 
seldom  so  exposed  to  ordinary  sight,  as  to  be  capable  of  identity, 
nothing  could  be  done  for  want  of  the  head.     This  being  now  found, 

and  all  being  recognized  as  having  once  been  Mrs.  B ,  the  inquiry 

was  then  set  on  foot  as  to  who  was  last  in  her  company.  A  variety  of 
circumstances  were  made  the  subject  of  inquiry  by  the  police,  and, 

ultimately,  it  ended  in  the  arrest  of  Gr .     My  assistance  was  called 

for  on  his  behalf,  and  I  had  frequent  interviews  with  him,  at  which 
he,  without  hesitation,  detailed  to  me  the  whole  affair.  He  may  have 
told  me  the  truth,  or  not ;  I  had  to  deal  with  the  facts  as  they  had 
been  stated  on  oath  against  him,  whatever  his  theory  might  be  by 

which  he  professed  to  explain  all  that  had  arisen.     Gr was  tried 

at  the  Central  Criminal  Court;  and,  after  a  very  patient  hearing  of 
three  days,  the  case  was  left  to  the  decision  of  the  jury,  who  pro- 
nounced a  verdict  of  guilty  against  him  ;  and  he  was  sentenced  to  die. 

For  defense,  I  had  the  assistance  of  a  gentleman,  who  by  some  un- 
known friend  of  the  prisoner  was  selected  to  attend  the  court. 
And  very  skillfully  did  he  conduct  the  case;  and,  particularly,  he 
had  read  himself  up  well  to  combat  the  medical  testimony  which 
might  be  produced  :  and  he  was  complimented  by  the  court  for  the 
skill  he  had  displayed. 

The  theory  set  up  for  the  defense  was  good.  It  was  possible, 
and  it  was  probable,  that  the  death  had  been  occasioned  in  the  way 
in  which  it  was  propounded  to  the  court  and  jury  that  the  death  had 
occurred  ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  subsequent  mangling  of  the 
body,  it  is  not  impossible  that  a  verdict  less  than  direct  murder  might 
have  been  given.  It  was  this : — the  prisoner  and  Mrs.  B.  were  sit- 
ting near  to  each  other,  when  they  each  found  that  mutual  deception 
had  been  the  course  which  each  was  taking  ;  that  in  anger  at  finding 
themselves  disappointed,  some  high  words  had  ensued,  and  in  the 

heat  and  excitement  of  the  moment  Gr had,  with  his  foot  and  leg, 

pushed  the  chair  on  which  Mrs.  B sat,  and  on  which  she  was 

then,  in  a  careless  way,  swinging  herself,  stayed  only  on  one  leg  of 

the  chair — that  this  push  knocked  over  Mrs.  B ,  and  the  chair 

4 


368  THE    HESPEKIAN. 

also,  and,  being  a  stout  woman,  her  head  struck  with  violence  against 
some  hard  substance,  which,  in  consequence  of  her  nervous  system 
being  in  a  highly  excited  state  at  the  moment,  had  thus  been  the 
cause  of  death.     Take  this  theory  as  the  true  state  of  the  case. 

Just  at  the  moment,  had  he  used  presence  of  mind,  he  would 
have  instantly  run  out  and  made  an  alarm,  and  got  the  help  of  a 
neighbor,  and  of  the  nearest  surgeon.  No,  he  faltered  ;  and  as  no 
person  saw  the  act  done,  and  to  prevent  any  one  knowing  one  word 
about  the  matter,  he  took,  as  he  thought,  the  most  effective  means 
of  concealment — the  body  and  legs  being  found  without  identity,  no 
fatal  result  could  ensue  on  that  discovery,  and  the  head,  if  entirely 
gone,  would  effectually  cut  off  all  trace  of  identity. 

These  were  the  salient  points  of  his  theory,  which,  as  regards  the 
mode  of  death,  would  all  have  come  right,  if,  instead  of  mutilating 
the  poor  woman's  body,  he  had  raised  an  alarm,  and  got  medical  aid, 
and  then  telling  the  surgeon  how  he  had  kicked  over  the  chair ;  and, 
although  this  account  would  have  been  given  in  evidence  against  him, 
yet,  having  kept  to  one  story,  and  all  his  case  resting  on  that,  and 
the  speedy  call  for  aid — the  body  being  undisturbed,  and  no  human 
being  to  give  any  contradiction  to  his  story,  and  no  other  mode  of 
accounting  for  the  death,  being  under  their  peculiar  position  as  in- 
tending to  marry  but  for  the  deception  each  had  been  practicing,  so 
likely  to  have  happened — I  have  great  doubt  in  my  mind  if  the  ver- 
dict would  have  been  guilty  of  murder.  But  the  absence  of  all  call 
for  aid,  looked  cruel  and  unkind — and  then  mutilating  the  body — the 
combinations  excited  a  prejudice,  and  feeling  of  horror,  that  however 
real  the  theory  might  have  been,  it  had  not  the  least  chance  with 

the  jury  ;  and  Gr was  hanged. 

Alameda,  Sept.  15,  '62.  S.  K. 


FAREWELL 


Farewell,  my  son  !  0,  blessed  thought 
He  cannot  go  where  God  is  not — 
And  where  He  is  there  goodness  reigns, 
And  Love  fulfills  what  Love  ordains. 

On  northern  hills,  on  southern  plains, 
In  wintry  chills,  in  summer  rains, 
In  deadly  conflict — blessed  thought, 
He  cannot  he  where  God  is  not. 


THE    ATHENIAN'S    PRAYER 

acts  11 :  23. 


BY    REV.    J.   D.    STRONG. 


Oh  !  Thou  dread  all-embracing  Power  ! 

Wrapped  in  thy  mystery, 
Working  unseen  in  leaf  and  flower, 

Unveil  Thyself  to  me. 

I  see  Thee  in  the  morning  dew, 

I  hear  Thee  in  the  wind, 
Thy  glory  in  the  cloud  I  view, 

In  storms  thy  presence  find. 

I  feel  Thee  at  the  thoughtful  hour 

When  stars  their  vigils  keep, 
And  when  the  moon's  soft  twilight  power 

Rests  on  a  world  asleep. 

The  lurid  gleams  of  winged  light 
Write  thy  dread  name  on  high  ; 

The  clouds'  deep  voice  proclaims  thy  might ; 
Thy  glory  fills  the  sky. 

The  forest's  deep  and  darkling  shade 

Is  all  instinct  with  Thee, 
And  every  rock  and  hill  and  glade 

Reveals  thy  mystery. 

Where'er  I  am,  whate'er  behold, 

In  sleep  or  waking  hour, 
Within  and  round  my  yearning  soul, 

I  feel  thy  girding  power. 

Oh  !  Thou  dread  all-embracing  Cause  ! 

My  spirit  sighs  for  Thee  ; 
Unfold  thy  deep,  mysterious  laws, 

Unveil  Thyself  to  me  ! 


MRS.    GRISCOM'S    LEGACY. 


[Continued  from  page  228.] 

At  the  time  of  her  aunt's  death,  Colonel  Thorn  was  absent  with 
a  gay  party  deer-stalking  in  the  highlands.  Mrs.  Griscom  had  been 
dead  nearly  a  month  when  Gertrude  received  a  letter  from  him. 
After  condoling  with  her  upon  her  loss,  he  delicately  hinted  that  he 
was  unprepared  for  the  material  alteration  in  her  prospects  which 
this  event  had  brought  about.  He  had  certainly  understood  when  he 
entered  into  a  marriage  engagement,  that  her  aunt's  property  was 
to  fall  to  her,  as  the  sole  heiress.  His  own  property  was  insuffi- 
cient to  support  her  in  the  style  her  grace  and  beauty  entitled  her 
to  expect,  and  he  loved  her  too  devotedly  to  be  the  means  of  depriv- 
ing her  of  any  of  the  luxuries  to  which  her  taste  and  education  had 
accustomed  her.  As  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  marry  for 
some  years  to  come,  and  he  looked  upon  a  long  betrothment  as  indel- 
icate and  prejudicial  to  a  lady,  he  considered  it  advisable  to  release 
her  from  her  engagement  to  him.  Hoping  she  would  ever  look 
upon  him  as  her  truest  friend,  and  confide  in  him  as  in  a  brother,  he 
bid  her  farewell,  adding  that  as  he  had  made  arrangements  to  go 
abroad  immediately,  he  must  depart  without  an  interview. 

Neither  tears  nor  swoons — neither  reproaches  nor  pleadings,  were 
resorted  to  by  Gertrude  when  she  read  this  epistle.  Her  graceful 
head  may  have  assumed  a  somewhat  haughtier  position,  but  her  face 
had  never  worn  a  sweeter  smile  nor  her  eyes  shone  with  a  more 
beautiful  light  than  then. 

After  the  reception  of  Colonel  Thorn's  letter,  with  a  feverish,  yet 
noble  earnestness,  Gertrude  prepared  for  her  removal  to  Denwood 
Manor. 

It  was  arranged  that  she  should  be  accompanied  by  Mary  Flem- 
ming,  a  lady  of  mature  years,  who  had  long  attended  her  in  the 
capacity  of  governess  and  companion.  She  alone  knew  of  what  had 
passed  between  Colonel  Thorn  and  Gertrude  ;  she  knew,  also,  how 


Mrs.  Griscoiris  Legacy.  371 

much  more  keenly  the  blow  would  be  felt  after  the  present  state  of 
excitement  had  subsided.  To  prevent  a  disastrous  reaction,  she  felt 
it  incumbent  upon  herself  to  adopt  some  plan  for  the  future  which 
would  occupy  the  mind  of  her  pupil,  and  call  her  talents  into  action. 
To  this  end,  she  proposed  that  the  manor  should  be  repaired,  and 
that  they  should  there  found  an  institution  of  learning  for  young 
ladies,  similar  in  its  construction  to  the  Roman  Catholic  nunneries. 
Gertrude  embraced  the  proposed  plan  with  alacrity.  A  portion  of 
her  small  income  she  immediately  appropriated  toward  repairing 
such  apartments  in  the  Manor  as  would  then  be  requisite. 

The  opening  spring  found  her  domiciliated  in  this  lonely,  though 
not  uncomfortable  habitation,  surrounded  by  eight  young  ladies,  the 
daughters  of  wealthy  parents. 

Upon  taking  possession  of  the  premises,  she  had  inspected  hastily, 
and  with  foreboding  heart,  the  west  end  of  the  manor,  dreading  to  find 
some  evidence  thrust  upon  her  of  the  truth  of  her  aunt's  surmises 
regarding  Amie  Hunt.  Dusty  and  dreary  enough  she  found  the 
rooms ;  some  of  them  still  adorned  with  faded  hangings  and  mouhry 
furniture.  These  apartments  were  in  a  better  state  of  preservation 
than  those  in  the  other  part  of  the  manor,  but  they  were  larger,  ir- 
regularly shaped,  and  not  so  well  adapted  to  general  use.  Gertrude 
was  happy  to  find  them  so,  and  gladly  turned  the  key  upon  the  silent, 
musty,  and  darkened  western  wing  of  Denwood  Manor.  "I  have 
not  the  means  to  furnish  it,"  said  she  to  Mary  Flemming,  "  and  I 
never  wish  to  go  near  it  again." 

Gertrude  saw  but  little  of  Mr.  Knightly,  though  she  was  now  in 
close  proximity  to  him.  When  they  met  she  was  reserved  and  cold 
in  demeanor,  and  he  did  not  infringe  upon  the  line  she  set  between 
them. 

Summer  and  autumn  passed — the  Christmas  festival  drew  near — 
Gertrude  surveyed  her  slender  purse,  nearly  exhausted  by  the  de- 
mands already  made  upon  it,  and  regretted  the  meagre  provision  she 
must  make  for  gifts  and  entertainment  to  her  pupils  and  friends. 

She  consulted  with  Mary  Flemming.  They  determined  together 
that  an  entertainment  must  be  given,  and  that  they  would  bend  all 
their  energies  to  make  it  gay  and  pleasant.  To  effect  this,  Gertrude 
deprived  herself  of  many  little  necessities  ;  curtailing  her  wardrobe, 
and  working  far  into  the  night  to  prepare  small  gifts  of  embroidery 
and  painting,  intended  for  her  pupils. 


372  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

At  length  the  day  arrived,  and  with  it  the  guests.  Games  and 
tableaux  had  been  planned,  and  all  were  in  high  spirits.  Gifts  for 
ladies  of  the  Manor  arrived  from  different  quarters,  but  Gertrude  re- 
marked that  none  came  from  Mr.  Knightly,  who  had  heretofore 
availed  himself  of  every  opportunity  to  present  her  with  flowers, 
fruit,  and  game.  Curiously  enough,  this  disturbed  her  in  no  small 
degree.  Her  last  meeting  with  him  had  been  in  October,  on  the 
anniversary  of  her  aunt's  death.  Gertrude  had  attended  prayers  in 
the  new  chapel,  (as  it  was  called,)  and  had  been  moved  to  tears  by 
the  pathetic,  rich-toned  voice  of  the  young  clergyman.  Afterwards, 
when  he  found  her  kneeling,  overcome  with  grief,  in  the  little  octag- 
onal chamber  bearing  her  name,  and  with  impulsive  sympathy  bent 
on  his  knees  beside  her,  she  hastily  arose — a  passion  of  tears  contend- 
ing with  a  fiercer  passion  ;  and  with  choking,  sobbing,  angry  voice 
— her  delirium  of  pain,  of  love,  and  woe,  mastering  her  pride,  she 
cried  : 

"  Leave  me,  sir !  leave  me !  Have  you  not  worked  enough 
wretchedness  ?  But  for  you  I  should  have  been  loved  and  happy — 
you  poisoned  the  mind  of  her  who  sleeps  here — you  drove  me  to  this 
desolate  manor,  to  spend  my  life  in  poverty,  unloved,  and  forgotten. 
Go,  sir — you  and  I  can  never  kneel  side  by  side !" 

Poor  Gertrude !  was  it  because  she  felt  an  interest  and  a  tender- 
ness growing  up  in  her  heart  toward  George  Knightly,  that  she 
spurned  him  thus  ?  Other  women  before  her  have  been  thus  torn  by 
conflicting  emotions,  and  have  thus  sought  to  impose  upon  their  own 
hearts ! 

Just  before  sunset  a  demand  arose  for  the  keys  of  the  west  wing. 
Mary  Flemming  appeared  to  sanction  this  demand,  and  explained  to 
Gertrude  how  an  exploration  of  the  rooms  would  serve  as  a  pleasant 
pastime  for  all.  A  report  of  late  prevailing  among  the  servants,  that 
strange  noises  had  been  heard  frequently  in  the  deserted  rooms,  had 
served  to  whet  their  curiosity.  Gertrude  was  very  loth  to  comply 
with  the  request ;  any  allusion  to  the  west  wing  was  painful  to  her, 
and  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  being  obliged  to  play  the  care- 
less hostess,  and  permit  herself  to  exhibit  these  apartments  with  a 
smiling  face,  when  the  history  connected  with  them  was  so  terribly 
important  and  significant.  Of  course  this  was  all  unknown  to  her 
guests  ;  they  were  merely  familiar  with  the  traditionary  story,  that 
a  figure  in  the  dress  of  a  white  nun  had  been   said  in  years  past  to 


Mrs.  GriscorrHs  Legacy.  373 

have  haunted  that  locality  ;  but  with  Amie  Hunt  and  her  unfortu- 
nate history,  all  were  unfamiliar.  At  length,  after  much  hesitation 
on  the  part  of  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  many  pleadings  on  the  part 
of  her  young  guests,  she  consented.  The  keys  were  produced  ; 
Mary  Flemming  was  appointed  cicerone  to  the  party,  and  accompan- 
ied by  Gertrude,  she  led  the  way  to  the  deserted  quarter. 

The  lock  turned  in  its  ward — the  door  opened  with  a  grating 
sound,  and  they  entered  its  open  portals  ;  it  led  merely  into  a  pas- 
sage-way; here  another  door,  lofty  and  broad,  presented  itself;  this 
was  slowly  opened.  Mary  advanced,  Gertrude  followed.  She  step- 
ped back  though,  hastily  enough.  "  Mary,  what  does  this  mean  ?•' 
she  asked,  in  astonishment.  What  did  it  mean  ?  was  she  in  fairy 
land  ?  The  large,  dusty,  empty  room,  which  she  had  locked  with 
those  keys  a  year  ago,  had  given  place  to  a  superb  drawing-room. 
Her  hesitating  step  fell  upon  a  carpet  soft  and  springy  as  fresh  moss; 
upon  its  golden-tinted  ground,  soft  and  voluptuous  as  the  mellowest 
sunset,  lay  bunches  of  purple  grapes,  interspersed  with  the  delicate 
bloom  of  the  peach ;  mirrors  and  paintings  hung  upon  the  walls ; 
exquisite  divans  and  chairs  of  crimson  velvet  invited  to  repose,  while 
tables  covered  with  curiosities  offered  amusement  to  the  restless. 

"Mary,  you  must  know  something  about  this  change,"  stammered 
Gertrude,  bewildeied  bej^ond  the  power  to  speak  her  surprise.  Mary 
shook  her  head,  saying,  "  it  was  all  new  to  her." 

The  room  was  lighted  by  several  long,  narrow,  latticed  windows, 
placed  high  from  the  floor,  and  a  view  could  only  be  obtained  by 
mounting  some  elevation.  Gertrude  felt  strangely  driven  to  look  out 
of  these  lattices — placing  a  footstool  upon  a  chair,  she  attained  the 
desired  hight,  and  looked  long  and  dreamily  forth  upon  a  wilderness 
of  trees  and  craggy  abysses.  This  west  end  seemed  imbedded  in  a 
rock,  whose  precipitous,  almost  perpendicular  descent  made  the  spec- 
tator dizzy  with  the  view. 

Separated  from  the  room  by  curtains  of  crimson  cloth,  was  a 
small  ante-chamber ;  upon  drawing  this  curtain,  the  surprised  party 
found  a  table  spread  with  the  most  inviting  luxuries  which  a  Christ- 
mas fete  could  suggest. 

Gertrude,  with  a  bright  flush  on  either  cheek,  like  the  carmine- 
tinted  fruit  before  her,  listened  to  the  congratulations  of  her  friends, 
who  would  not  believe  but  that  the  pleasant  and  unexpected  treat 
was  her  own  invention,  to  add  zest  to  the  festivities  of  the  occasion. 


376  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

whole  forest ;  and  they  began  carrying  them  one  by  one  up  the  tree. 
A  slow,  hard  way  to  do  the  work,  you  will  say,  and  so  it  was ;  and 
when  the  October  sunshine  came  through  the  red  and  yellow  leaves, 
and  told  them  it  was  noon,  they  were  very  glad  to  stop  and  rest,  and 
eat  their  lunch.  But  while  they  sat  there  on  their  hind  feet,  with 
their  lunch  in  their  fore  paws,  suddenly  they  heard  a  great  crackling 
of  dry  sticks,  and  rustling  of  dead  leaves,  and  many  loud  and  merry 
voices  ;  and,  for  a  second  or  two,  their  little  hearts  almost  stood  still 
under  their  glossy  coats.  Then  such  a  scampering  as  there  was  up 
into  the  old  beech  tree  !  They  dropped  their  nuts,  and  before  you 
could  say  "  Jack  Robinson,"  there  was'nt  so  much  as  the  end  of  a 
tail  to  be  seen.  But  if  you  had  looked  up  in  the  tree,  you  might 
have  seen  several  pairs  of  bright  eyes,  peering  out  to  see  what  was 
going  to  happen.  And  sure  enough,  in  a  minute  on  came  a  troop  of 
boys  and  girls,  shouting,  and  running,  and  whooping,  and  laughing, 
till  the  woods  rang  again,  carrying  bags,  and  baskets,  and  tin  pails, 
and  satchels,  and  everything  you  can  think  of,  that  will  hold  nuts. 

"  Oh  !  look  here,  boys,"  said  little  Nelly  ;  "  somebody's  spilled 
their  nuts." 

Then  the  children  gathered  around  to  look,  and  Tom  Green  said  : 

"  No  ;  that's  a  squirrel's  work — that's  the  way  they  do.  I've 
seen  piles  like  that  in  the  woods,  many  a  time." 

"  Have  you  ?"  said  Nelly.  "  What  will  the  squirrel  do  with 
them  "?" 

"  Oh,  he  meant  to  carry  them  to  his  hole,"  said  Tom  ;  "  bu';  I 
shall  save  him  the  trouble.  Much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Squirrel,  for 
helping  me  fill  my  basket." 

"  Oh^Tom  !  don't — please  don't,"  said  Nelly. 

"  For  shame  !  Tom,"  said  the  other  boys  ;  "  don't  be  so  mean." 

"  Poh  !"  said  Tom  ;  "  who  cares  for  squirrels,  or  girls  either." 

"  I  do,"  said  Charley  Grant.  "  My  mother  says,  she  don't  think 
much  of  a  boy  that  don't  care  for  girls." 

But  Tom  put  the  last  of  the  nuts  in  his  basket,  and  walked  away; 
while  Nelly,  with  the  rest  of  the  children,  kept  behind,  and  let  him 
go  by  himself.  So  they  went  on  ;  and  pretty  soon  they  were  out  of 
sight,  and  the  wood  was  still  again. 

Then,  one  after  another,  the  squirrels  crept  down  from  the  tree, 
and  I  can  hardly  tell  you  how  sad  and  disappointed  they  were.  They 
scraped  away  the  leaves  where  the  pile  had  been,  but  there  was  noth- 


The  Children  s  Corner.  377 

ing  there.  They  had  worked  so  hard,  so  many  long  days,  and  now 
the  naughty  boy-robber  had  not  left  them  a  single  nut !  So  they 
did  just  what  most  little  boys  and  girls  would  have  done — they  all 
sat  down  and  cried,  as  if  their  hearts  would  break.  If  Tom  Green 
had  seen  them,  I  don't  think  those  nuts  would  ever  have  tasted  good 
to  him. 

The  next  morning,  though  the  wind  was  very  cold,  Mrs.  Nimble 
put  her  head  in  at  her  neighbor's  door,  bright  and  early. 

"Good  morning,  neighbor,"  said  she  ;  "Is'nt  it  almost  time  we 
were  at  work  ?" 

"  I  shall  pile  up  no  more  nuts  to  feed  greedy  boys  with,"  growled 
Mrs.  Chatterbox,  from  her  bed. 

"  Oh,  we  can  carry  them  right  up  to  our  store-rooms  this  time," 
said  Mrs.  Nimble  ;  "  and  you  know,  neighbor,  the  snow  will  come 
very  soon,  and  if  we  don't  make  haste,  we  shall  have  nothing  laid  up 
for  winter. 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  returned  the  other  ;  "  I  am  too  tired  and 
discouraged  to  work  to-day." 

So  Mrs.  Chatterbox  sat  in  the  door  of  her  house  all  that  day,  and 
the  next,  and  the  next,  and  told  all  the  squirrels  she  saw,  what  a  sad 
thing  had  happened  to  them,  and  how  hard  it  was  that  they  must 
lose  all  their  autumn's  work,  until  every  squirrel  in  the  forest  had 
heard  about  it.  At  last,  when  diligent  Mrs.  Nimble  had  her  store- 
room packed  as  full  as  it  would  hold,  Mrs.  Chatterbox  began  to  think 
about  going  to  work  again.  So  she  told  her  children,  at  night,  to  be 
ready  to  help  her  in  the  morning.  But  that  night  it  grew  very  cold ; 
and  what  do  you  think  lazy  Mrs.  Chatterbox  saw,  when  she  went  to 
her  door  in  the  morning  ?  Why,  nothing  but  snow,  white  snow, 
everywhere.  Poor  squirrel  !  what  was  to  become  of  her ;  for  she 
had  not  a  morsel  of  food  to  give  her  little  ones.  How  she  wished, 
in  her  heart,  she  had  followed  her  neighbor's  advice. 

I  am  not  able  to  tell  you  all  that  happened  to  these  squirrels 
through  the  long  winter ;  but  when  I  walked  in  the  forest,  one  cold 
day,  I  saw  Mrs.  Chatterbox,  with  her  bones  looking  as  if  they  might 
almost  prick  through  her  fur ;  and  her  long  tail,  that  used  to  be  so 
handsome,  hanging  straight  down.  She  was  slowly  climbing  among 
the  ice-covered  branches  of  a  tree,  looking  for  frozen  beech-nuts,  and 
when  I  asked  after  her  little  ones,  I  heard  that  the  poor  things  had 
all  died  of  starvation. 


PULL  SIZE  PATTEKN. 


LADIES'  CHEMISETTE  ZOUAVE  WITH  REVERS. 

Material — fine  Nainsook  or  linen.  The  fronts,  are  in  fine  plaits,  and  long- 
enough  to  hang  gracefully  over  the  belt.  It  is  fastened  around  the  waist 
with  a  string  drawn  into  the  hem  at  the  back. 

Plain  Bishop  Sleeves,  fastened  with  a  cuff  to  match  the  collar.  This  new 
style  Chemisette  is  worn  with  a  Zouave  Jacket — a  new  and  distingue  article 
of  Dress. 


PATTERN"   FOR   BRAIDING. 


MAGNOLIA. 

A  pretty  variety  of  the  Zouave  family — the  back 
corresponds  with  the  front.  The  sleeve  is  plain,  with 
a  puff  set  on  the  bottom,  and  finished  at  the  upper 
edge  with  points,  finished  with  braid  and  buttons. 
This  jacket  may  be  made  of  pique,  or  double  Mar- 
seilles, as  well  as  silk.  White  tucked  under-shirt, 
with  broad  center-plait  and  tiny  ruffles  each  side. 


"SPANISH"    SLEEVE. 

An  elegant  sleeve  in  Summer  silk  or  grenadine. 
It  is  a  small  bishop  in  shape,  the  fullness  laid  in  box- 
plaits  at  the  top,  and  gathered  into  a  loose  band,  to 
which  is  attached  a  deep  lace  at  the  wrist.  A  wide 
gore  cut  out  on  the  front  of  the  arm  is  trimmed 
round  with  a  ruching  of  ribbon,  and  discloses  the 
handsome  lace  under-sleeve. 


ttmtwafjf  ^f  &fii%i&u. 


DRESSES. 
For  Walking  or  Dinner  dresses,  heavy  black  silk  is  in  good  taste,  made 
close  at  the  throat,  and  pointed  waist.  Plain  flowing,  or  half  close  sleeve, 
trimmed  with  velvet  or  lace.  Skirt,  strait  and  full  with  long  train.  Even- 
ing dress  must  be  made  of  light  material,  either  colored  or  white.  White 
tarletans,  with  colored  flowers,  are  suitable  for  young  ladies.  It  is  impossible 
to  decide  what  is  the  style  for  Sleeves,  there  are  so  many  shapes  in  vogue. 
The  small  Bishop  is  most  appropriate  for  muslin  dresses.  The  demi-closed 
sleeve  is  much  worn — being  suitable  for  any  material. 

BONNETS. 
Bonnets,  though  not  so  much  a  part  of  a  "  woman's  self,"  as  the  hat  is  of 
a  man,  is,  nevetrheless,  quite  important.     Since  the  last  issue  of  the  sum- 
mary of  fashion,  this  appendage  has  undergone  little  or  no  change.     Straw 
prevails,  and  trimmings  vary  according  to  the  taste  of  the  wearer. 

JACKETS    AND   CHEMISETTES. 
Zouave  and  loose  Jackets,  also  Zouave  Chemisettes  are  much  worn.     The 
full-size  pattern  accompanying  this  number,  is  of  the  latter. 


Norcross. — No.  5,  Masonic  Temple,  Montgomery  Street.  In  addition 
to  a  very  superior  article  in  the  way  of  under  garments,  (both  linen  and  cot- 
ton) for  ladies  wardrobes,  kept  by  Mrs.  Norcross,  can  be  found  a  great  variety 
of  zephyr  worsteds,  of  every  imaginable  hue,  also  Sontags,  Shawls,  Opera 
Hoods,  etc.,  etc.,  and  apparel  for  children,  of  endless  variety  and  bsauty. 

Mr.  Norcross. — In  the  same  building,  opening  on  Post  Street,  ara  the 
rooms  of  Mr.  Norcross,  who  has  on  hand  at  all  times,  a  rich  profusion  of  Ma- 
sonic and  Military  Regalia.  Orders  for  sets  are  responded  to  with  prompt- 
ness. We  refer  our  readers  to  his  card  on  one  of  the  advertising  pages  in 
this  number  of  the  Hesperian. 


S.  O..Brigham  &  Co.,  Ill  Montgomery  Street.  Have  the  ladies  of  San 
Francisco  called  at  this  Establishment  since  the  last  arrival  of  beautiful 
patterns  from  Madam  Demerest,  (of  whose  house  this  is  a  bi'anch.)  Madame 
Langraf,  the  Artiste  of  the  City,  who  presides  at  111,  will  show  them  some 
of  the  most  superb  fashions  for  waists,  ever  before  seen  on  this  coast.  Also 
Sleeves,  Paletots,  etc.,  etc.,  of  latest  European  styles.  If  you  want  the 
ideally  heautiful  in  the  way  of  form  and  fashion,  call  on  Madame  Langraf. 


Editors   Table.  381 

Notice. — We  would  call  the  attention  of  the  ladies  of  California  to  the 
card  of  Mrs.  Anna  M.  Bolander,  to  be  found  on  one  of  our  advertising 
pages.  Mrs.  Bolander  excels  in  Design,  aud  her  skill  in  Hair  braiding  is 
superior  to  any  we  have  ever  seen.  We  paid  a  visit  to  her  rooms,  and  were 
shown  some  very  fine  specimens  of  Ear-rings,  Necklaces,  Breast-pins,  Crosses 
and  Watch  Chains  for  gentlemen,  of  exquisite  finish,  just  completed  to  order. 
We  think  Mrs.  Bolander  has  not  her  equal  in  hair  braiding  in  this  city,  and 
as  Hair  Guard  Chains  are  now  the  fashion,  we  would  advise  our  gentlemen 
friends  to  call  and  procure  them. 

Fancy  sewing,  and  stitching  of  Bands,  Chemisettes,  etc.,  etc.,  are  beauti- 
fully executed.  E.  T.  S. 


$MiMt$  8J-AMV; 


Had  lightning  dropped  on  our  path  from  a  cloudless  heaven,  we  should  have  been 
no  more  surprised  than  we  were  on  receiving  an  invitation  to  become  the  associate 
conductor  of  a  ladies'  magazine.  What  had  we  done,  or  what  were  we,  that  we 
should  be  deemed  worthy  of  such  honor  ?  Why  should  we  be  singled  out  from  the 
three  or  four  hundred  thousand  men  in  this  State,  to  be  the  mouthpiece  of  the  la- 
dies ?  We  had,  indeed,  long  cherished  more  than  ordinary  respect  and  admiration 
for  woman  ;  had  desired  to  see  her  receive  as  extensive  and  solid  an  education  as 
the  other  sex;  had  felt  that  her  property  rights  should  be  better  protected  by  law; 
that  she  should  be  admitted  to  many  employments  from  which  custom,  or  preju- 
dice, or  selfishness,  now  debar  her ;  and  that  her  labor  should  be  more  equably  re- 
munerated, as  it  is  in  our  young  but  wise  State.  Yet,  we  must  confess,  we  had 
never  been  an  advocate  of  "  woman's  rights,"  in  the  sense  in  which  that  term  is 
ordinarily  understood  ;  and  why  such  choice  should  fall  on  us,  was,  and  still  is,  a 
puzzle.  Yet  so  it  was  ;  the  summons  came,  and  we  hastened  to  obey,  as  the  most 
agreeable  act  of  our  life. 

In  taking  on  ourselves  these  novel  relations,  and  new  duties,  we  beg  to  assure 
our  fair  readers,  that  we  shall  give  to  them  our  best  thoughts,  our  best  feelings,  and 
our  best  efforts ;  and  shall  spare  no  labor  to  make  the  Hesperian  worthy  of  its 
former  reputation.  Its  character  will,  undoubtedly,  be  modified  in  some  respects; 
the  reputation  of  our  co-laborer,  however,  gives  assurance  that  it  will  lose  none  of 
those  delicate  beauties  and  feminine  graces  which  hitherto  have  rendered  it  a  fa- 
vorite among  all  classes.  Its  voices,  perhaps,  may  have  a  little  more  of  the  mas- 
culine ring,  yet  we  are  persuaded  that  it  will  be  none  the  less  acceptable  to  our 
lady  readers  on  that  account;  and,  if  they  are  pleased,  our  bachelor  friends,  of 
course,  will  be.  We  intend  to  combine  a  greater  variety  of  reading  in  our  pages. 
We  shall  admit  none  but  first-class  articles.  We  shall  aim  to  have  one  solid  arti- 
cle on  some  subject  of  permanent  interest  in  each  number.  In  fine,  we  intend  to 
make  this  magazine,  so  far  as  regards  its  literary  character,  second  to  no  other  in 
the  land ;  and,  we  trust,  that  all  our  friends  will  give  us  their  sympathy  and  coop- 
eration, in  increasing  our  circulation,  and  extending  the  sphere  of  our  influence. 

J.  D.  S. 


382  THE   HESPERIAN. 

Our  Contributors. — We  take  pleasure  in  introducing  to  our  readers,  in  this 
number,  two  new  contributors — Mr.  Daly,  and  Mrs.  Strong.  "  The  Spirit  of 
Beauty,"  is  no  ordinary  production  for  a  college  student ;  and  if  that  young  man 
has  his  health,  and  is  true  to  himself,  we  predict  for  him  a  brilliant  future.  Mrs. 
Strong  will,  hereafter,  furnish  a  children's  story  each  month.  This  new  feature  of 
our  magazine  will  render  it  attractive  to  the  little  folks.  In  addition  to  our  old 
corps  of  contributors,  we  have  engaged  the  services  of  a  number  of  our  most  dis- 
tinguished writers,  whose  names  have  not  yet  graced  our  pages,  but  will  be  an- 
nounced, from  time  to  time,  as  their  articles  appear. 


"  North  Pacific  Review." — We  welcome  to  our  table,  with  pleasure,  the  first 
number  of  this  new  Monthly.  Its  Editor,  Robert  F.  Greeley,  has  been  long  known 
to  the  California  public  as  an  able  and  agreeable  writer,  and  will  make  this  enter- 
prise succeed,  if  success  be  possible.  We  need  such  a  periodical  on  this  coast,  and 
hope  it  wiil  be  well  sustained.  It  seems  to  us,  however,  thut  the  topics  enumer- 
ated in  the  "  Prospectus,"  are  too  numerous,  and  of  too  wide  a  range,  to  be  suc- 
cessfully treated  in  one  small  monthly.     Still,  we  may  be  mistaken. 


To  Friends. — We  have  heard  it  remarked,  that  "The  Hesperian  was  too 
small,  and  did  not  contain  reading  matter  enough."  We,  therefore,  take  this  op- 
portunity to  call  attention  to  the  fact,  that  we  have  added  sixteen  pages — and  shall 
continue  to  enlarge  its  proportions  as  increasing  subscriptions  will  warrant  the  ex- 
pense. Having  taken  into  consideration  the  "present  condition  of  things,"  we 
have  reduced  the  yearly  subscription  to  the  moderate  sura  of  Three  Dollars — 
thus  bringing  it  within  the  means  of  all.  Single  copies,  Twenty-five  cents.  If 
every  old  subscriber  will  send  us  one  new  one,  it  will  enable  us  to  gratify  all  their 
desires.  We  contemplate  adding  Music,  and  a  "Domestic  Page,"  as  soon  as  ex- 
pedient. As  to  Matter,  there  is  no  lack  of  that ;  only  send  in  subscriptions, 
friends.  e.  t.  s. 

Careering.  —  Our  friend  of  the  Sierra  Democrat,  does  not  like  this  word  when 
applied  to  "those  grand  old  Trees."  Lexicographers  define  it,  a  "swift  motion"; 
and  if  our  memory  is  not  at  fault,  an  old  English  writer  (though  we  cannot  lay  our 
hand  upon  it  now)  uses  it  in  the  same  relation.  The  association  of  ideas,  makes 
it  poetical ;  the  slumber  of  "memories"  is  awakened,  and  we  live  o'er  again  the 
"  old  times"  in  the  North  country.  We  see  the  huge  branches  of  the  hoary  old 
trees  careering  in  the  dark  forests,  as  fierce  blasts  of  the  Autumnal  Night- Wind 
sweep  through.     At  all  events,  we  think  our  friend  Mrs.  Fader  is  shielded  by  the 

i' Poet's  license."  „ E.  t.  s. 

Acknowledgment. — We  tender  our  thanks  to  Mr.  C.  E.  B.  Howe,  for  the  floral 
specimens.     They  are  now  in  the  hands  of  the  botanist. 


Canvasser  Wanted. — To  solicit  subscriptions  for  the  Hesperian  Magazine.  A 
liberal  commission  will  be  paid  to  a  person  of  good  address,  who  is  desirous  of 
engaging  in  such  a  business. 

TO  CONTRIBUTORS. 
Imagination. — We  never  publish  anonymous  communications. 


I  THINK  OF  THEE. 


In  moderate  time. 


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where  to  thee  Came  thoughts  of  me  %       Came 


thoughts    of 
thoughts    of 


me? 
me  1 


3d. 
I  think  of  thee 

With  tender  fears, 
With  heart-felt  sighs 

And  hurning  tears- 
How,  then,  to  thee 
Come  thoughts  of  me  1 


4th. 
Oh,  think  of  me, 

Till  brighter  star 
Shines  on  our  love  ! 

However  far — 
Always  to  me 
Come  thoughts  of  thee. 


FULL     SIZE    PATTEE5T. 


DRESS   FOR  A  GIRL  FROM  THREE  TO  SIX  YEARS. 

Infant  waist,  with  round  cape  about  the  neck,  with  four  raffles.  Around 
the  sleeve,  two  ruffles.  The  skirt  trimmed  with  four  ruffles  above  and  four  below 
the  puffing.  The  puffs  to  run  up  and  down,  instead  of  around  the  skirt. 
Material,  Jaconet  or  Nainsook.  Can  be  made  plain,  of  merino,  and  braided, 
if  preferred. 

We  expect  to  receive  colored  illustrations  soon. 


THE    "ELEGANTE"    SLEEVE. 

This  is  a  pretty  sleeve  in  gray  poir  de  chevre,  with 
quilling,  and  ruche  at  the  wrist  of  green  silk.  It  is 
a  sort  of  '  bishop,'  with  the  lower  part  at  the  back, 
turned  up  on  the  front  in  points,  leaving  it  open  so 
as  to  disclose  the  undersleeve,  which  is  of  full  plain 
net,  crossed  with  narrow  black  velvet.  The  top 
of  the  sleeve  is  laid  in  box-plaits,  in  the  centre  of 
the  largest  of  which  is  placed  a  quilling  of  silk 
which  extends  down  about  three  inches. 


LADY'S    TRAVELLING   DRESS. 

Composed  of  a  jacket  of  fine  checked  summer 
silk,  trimmed  with  a  narrow  purple  quilling.  Vest 
of  purple  silk.  Skirt  of  fine  check,  trimmed  with 
narrow  flounces,  edged  with  purple,  or  purple 
niching  to  match  the  jacket.  Plain,  very  narrow 
linen  collar. 


> 

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THE  CATCHFLY.     (Silene  Scoahri). 

(For  description  see  page  429.)     The  fly  was  caught  on  the   specimen 
exactly  as  delineated. 


THE   GOLDEN  VIOLET.     (Viola  aurea.  [Kellogg.]) 
(Far  description,  see  page  429. ) 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


Vol.  IX.]  DECEMBER,  1862.  [No.  2. 


CRATERS    OF   THE   HAWAIIAN   ISLANDS. 


BY  EEV.  J.  D.  STRONG. 


Kilauea,  styled  by  the  natives  Lua  Pele,  or  Pele's  Hole,  and  situa- 
ted thirty-five  miles  southwest  from  Hilo  on  the  trail  to  Kau,  sets  at 
defiance  all  the  ideas  and  definitions  of  geographers.  Instead  of  being 
"a  burning  mountain,"  or  "a  mountain  that  sends  forth  fire  and 
smoke,"  it  is  no  mountain  at  all,  nor  within  ten  miles  of  the  base  of 
any  mountain,  but  is  a  deep  pit  of  fire  that  has  never  been  quenched 
within  the  historic  period,  in  the  midst  of  a  nearly  level  plain  on  the 
eastern  flank  of  Mauna  Loa.  It  is  elevated  four  thousand  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  but  the  ascent  from  Hilo  is  so  gradual  as  not  to 
be  perceptible.  For  a  few  miles  the  way  lies  over  a  level,  beautiful 
country,  free  from  stones  and  covered  with  a  heavy,  rich  verdure. 
Then  succeed  the  forests  growing  on  old  lava  streams,  the  bare  places 
in  which  reveal  the  unmistakable  marks  and  conformations  of  flowing 
lava.  The  trail  is  here  rough  and  full  of  sharp  fragments  of  the 
harder  kinds  of  lava,  so  that  the  rider  can  move  only  at  a  slow  walk, 
and  even  that  rate  of  speed  seems  excruciating  to  his  barefooted  an- 
imal. 

From  Hilo  to  the  crater  we  pass  a  constant  succession  of  lava 
streams,  varying  from  half  a  mile  to  several  miles  in  width.  These 
streams  and  their  comparative  ages  can  be  distinctly  traced  by  the 
different  quantities  of  soil  and  vegetation  on  them.  They  usually  run 
from  the  mountains  more  or  less  directly  to  the  sea,  and  are  crossed 
by  the  trail  nearly  at  right  angles.  On  some  of  them  were  large 
forest  trees  four  or  five  feet  in  diameter.     Then  would  succeed  a  strip 


O0«  THE    HESPERIAN. 

with  trees  of  half  that  size,  or  perhaps  with  no  trees  at  all,  and  with 
no  vegetation  but  a  few  stinted  shrubs.  Frequently  these  strips  of 
comparatively  new  lava  would  lead  down  through  the  middle  of  a 
dense  forest,  its  edges  being  as  distinctly  marked  as  the  banks  of  a 
river.  Some  of  these  streams  are  covered  with  a  good  depth  of  soil, 
while  others  have  scarcely  begun  to  be  decomposed.  These  lava 
flows  are  the  characteristic  feature  of  southern  Hawaii,  and  leave  no 
room  for  doubt  that  its  solid  parts  have  been  boiled  over  out  of  its 
mountains. 

Near  noon  of  the  second  clay  of  our  slow  journey,  while  the  woods 
rang  with  our  songs  and  laughter,  we  suddenly  came  upon  a  rent  in 
the  earth,  from  which  steam  and  smoke  were  escaping.  Clapping 
spurs  to  our  horses  with  a  shout,  we  rushed  around  a  woody  point 
and  immediately  stood  on  the  brink  of  a  black  and  frowning  abyss, 
three  miles  in  diameter  and  a  thousand  feet  deep,  out  of  which,  from 
hundreds  of  fissures,  clouds  of  smoke,  steam,  and  gases  rolled  up  to 
the  heavens.  In  this  fearful  presence,  it  need  scarcely  be  added,  for 
a  moment  every  muscle  was  spell-bound,  every  voice  was  hushed  to 
a  whisper,  and  every  heart  beat  with  the  strangest  emotion.  Even 
now,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  that  emotion  of  sublimity  is  still  as 
fresh  and  vivid  as  at  the  first,  the  heart  lives  it  over  and  over  in 
dreams,  and  it  will  remain  as  a  moulding  power  in  the  mind  forever. 
No  wonder  the  untutored  native  should  make  this  the  seat  of  a  dread 
divinity,  that  reveled  in  its  fires,  bathed  in  its  flaming  floods,  or  rode 
on  the  flashing  crests  of  its  burning  waves.  No  wonder  that  here 
should  be  located  the  Sandwich  Island  Hades,  where  the  souls  of  the 
wicked  Hawaiians  should  dwell  forever  amid  devouring  flames.  It 
w^as  in  scenes  like  this  that  much  of  the  language  and  imagery  of  the 
Old  Testament  had  their  origin. 

After  our  first  intense  feeling  of  awe  had  passed  away,  we  pro- 
ceeded to  make  a  detailed  survey  of  the  scene  before  us.  We  found 
that  the  crater  had  not  been  formed,  as  is  usually  the  case,  by  erup- 
tions, for  there  was  no  evidence  that  it  had  ever  overflowed.  The 
trees  for  miles  about  it  were  apparently  of  the  same  age,  showing 
conclusively  that  the  country  around  had  never  been  devastated  by 
its  fires.  It  was  simply  a  pit  made  by  the  falling  in  of  a  part  of  the 
earth's  surface.  First  a  portion  of  the  plain  nearly  in  the  shape  of  a 
circle,  fifteen  miles  in  diameter,  had  sunk  down  two  or  three  hundred 
feet,  and  was  bounded  on  all  sides,  except  the  one  by  which  we  had 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  389 

approached,  by  walls  of  rock.  The  whole  surface  of  this  sunken 
plain,  the  temperature  of  which  is  sometimes  120°  Farenheit,  was 
broken  by  innumerable  cracks  and  fissures,  from  hundreds  of  which 
smoke  was  ascending,  sometimes  curling  up  to  heaven  like  a  thin 
etherial  veil  of  vapor,  then  rolling  up  in  black  and  pitchy  folds  like 
clouds  from  the  infernal  pit.  These  cracks  were  often  covered  over 
by  a  crust  of  sand  and  debris  which  was  liable  to  give  way  beneath 
our  feet.  Dismal  echoes  from  below  would  often  warn  us  to  retrace 
our  steps,  or  tread  with  care,  if  we  would  escape  a  Sam  Patch  leap 
into  burning  floods  a  thousand  feet  beneath  us.  Once  what  appeared 
to  be  solid  earth  gave  way  under  the  careless  tread  of  one  of  our 
company,  and,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  he  disappeared  up  to  his 
arm-pits.  Catching  by  his  hands,  and  being  drawn  out  by  his  com- 
panions, he  was  instantly  followed  by  a  dense  volume  of  hot  steam 
and  smoke.  A  stone  thrown  into  the  pit  thus  opened,  could  .not  be 
heard  to  strike  bottom. 

On  the  north  a  spur  of  the  main  land  enters  into  this  sunken 
plain  and  runs  quite  up  to  the  brink  of  the  central  pit.  There,  near 
the  middle  of  the  space  first  depressed,  a  hole  three  miles  in  diameter 
and  a  thousand  feet  deep  had  been  eaten  out  by  the  rock-devouring 
fires,  or  had  been  broken  down  by  some  stupendous  convulsion  of 
nature.  Over  this  spur  had  been  our  approach,  and  near  its  end,  not 
twenty  feet  from  the  edges  of  the  frowning  abyss,  in  full  view  of  its 
eternal  fires,  stood  the  grass  hut  which  was  to  be  our  place  of  ren- 
dezvous. A  large  chasm,  said  to  be  bottomless,  a  few  rods  behind 
the  hut,  nearly  severed  the  end  of  this  spur  from  the  main  land,  and 
out  of  it  constantly  arose  clouds  of  steam  sufficiently  hot  for  culinary 
purposes.  Here  our  company  fixed  the  shrine  of  their  Penates,  and, 
as  often  as  hunger  prompted,  "  worshipped  the  gods,"  not  "  with 
fire"  but  by  steam.  The  writer  never  tasted  chickens  so  delicious  as 
those  wrapped  in  banana  leaves  and  roasted  in  these  steam  holes. 

A  short  distance  west  from  the  hut,  on  a  bench  of  earth  depres- 
sed half  way  between  the  general  surface  of  the  country  and  the 
sunken  plain,  is  the  famous  sulphur  bank.  It  is  about  thirty-five 
rods  long,  forty  yards  wide  and  thirty  or  forty  feet  high,  and  made 
up  of  lava  decomposed  by  sulphureous  gases  and  mixed  with  depos- 
its of  sulphur  and  gypsum,  soft  and  moist  within,  but  hardened  to  a 
red  crust  on  the  surface.  The  bank  is  constantly  enveloped  in  clouds 
of  steam  and  gases,  and  within  is  full  of  the  shining  crystals  of  sul- 


390  THE    HESPERIAN. 

phur,  soft  and  delicate  at  first,  but  hardened  on  exposure  to  the  air. 
Deposits  of  pure  gypsum  are  also  found  in  places.  We  lingered  for 
hours  on  and  around  this  wonderful  spot,  treading  cautiously  to  avoid 
dangerous  places,  sometimes  slumping  through  the  crust  into  the  hot, 
mush-like  substance  beneath,  and  all  the  while  digging  with  our  long 
canes  to  find  the  forms  of  beauty  imbedded  within.  Formerly  the 
bottomless  chasm,  before  mentioned,  separated  this  bank  from  the 
northern  wall  of  the  sunken  plain,  and  rendered  it  impossible  to  ex- 
plore the  side  next  to  it,  but  at  the  time  of  our  visit,  the  chasm  had 
become  filled  up  to  within  fifty  or  sixty  feet  of  the  top,  and  we  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  go  down  into  its  depths.  Enveloped  as 
it  was  with  clouds  of  steam  and  smoke,  the  bottom  being  invisible 
from  the  top,  and  full  of  stifling  fumes,  it  was  literally  like  the  de- 
scent of  iEneas  to  Avernus  ;  and  I  am  now  surprised  at  the  courage 
which  impelled  us.  Twice  we  passed  through  the  whole  length  of 
this  deep,  narrow  crack  over  a  space  of  fifty  or  sixty  rods,  lingering  by 
the  way  to  examine  the  most  curious  and  beautiful  sights  human  eyes 
ever  beheld.  That  side  of  the  bank  was  pierced  full  of  holes,  some 
of  them  several  feet  in  diameter,  and  extending  back  into  the  interior 
of  the  mound,  out  of  which  poured  streams  of  sulphur  gas,  as  hot  as 
steam  from  an  engine  and  of  stifling  stench.  They  were  fringed  or 
coated  all  over,  as  rocks  on  the  Green  Mountains  are  coated  with 
moss,  by  splendid  crystals  of  sulphur  several  inches  in  length,  that 
waved  and  nodded  like  the  plumes  of  warriors,  as  the  hot  air  rushed 
past  them.  While  attached  to  their  nidus,  they  were  so  soft  and  del- 
icate as  in  most  cases  to  be  destroyed  by  the  touch  of  our  canes,  but 
on  exposure  to  the  cool  air,  soon  became  hard.  The  whole  of  this 
gorge  was  crowded  with  forms  of  beauty  so  fantastic  and  fairy-like, 
and  my  companions  seemed  so  like  shadows,  as  they  moved  about 
enveloped  in  the  thick  folds  of  vapor,  that  I  could  scarcely  overcome 
the  impression  that  we  had  been  transferred  to  a  new  planet,  and 
were  the  companions  of  a  new  order  of  beings.  The  gases  escape 
from  these  breathing-holes  in  jets  and  puffs,  and  are  often  stifling. 
Once  they  assailed  us  so  furiously,  that  we  were  obliged  to  drop  our 
canes,  hold  our  breath,  and  run  for  our  lives.  At  times  they  are  so 
active,  that  the  bank  cannot  be  visited  with  safety. 

At  the  close  of  the  day,  full,  but  not  satiated  with  wonders,  we 
repaired  to  the  hut.  In  arranging  our  beds  for  the  night  on  the  soft 
ferns  brought  by  our  guides,  we  discovered  a  steam  crack  running 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  391 

right  through  the  middle  of  our  domicil,  the  warm  air  from  which, 
for  the  benefit  of  our  nerves  we  presume,  filled  the  apartment ;  and 
as  we  lay  during  all  that  long,  sleepless  night,  conjuring  up  all  sorts 
of  queer  fancies,  while  we  watched  the  flashes  of  light  that  gleamed 
from  a  hundred  furnaces  in  the  abyss  below,  and  listened  to  the  his- 
sing, whizzing,  screeching  sounds  and  loud  reports  that  filled  the  air, 
we  could  not  but  think  how  precarious  was  our  situation  ;  how  easily 
an  earthquake  could  tumble  into  the  burning  gulf  the  broken,  top- 
pling point  of  earth  on  which  we  were,  as  it  had  such  points  hund- 
reds of  times  before ;  or  what  might  be  the  consequences  if  some 
luckless  sleeper  should  arise  in  his  dreams  and  wander  forth  in  the 
darkness  among  the  giddy  caverns  and  pit-falls. 

At  length,  after  what  seemed  to  be  a  hundred  ages,  the  welcome 
light  began  to  gild  the  eastern  sky,  and  we  prepared  to  descend  and 
explore  the  innermost  shrine  of  the  terrible  Pele.  As  the  walls  of 
the  crater  are  perpendicular  on  every  side  but  the  north,  that  is  the 
only  point  of  descent.  There,  the  fires  having  gradually  eaten  away 
the  supports  beneath  the  surface,  it  has  fallen  in  in  sections,  and  re- 
mains in  terraces  one  above  another,  all  being  covered  with  trees  of  the 
same  species  and  size.  None  of  these  terraces  had  ever  been  over- 
flowed with  lava.  The  first  descent  is  down  a  precipice  about  fifty 
feet.  Passing  across  the  upper  shelf  of  earth,  we  scrambled  down 
another  and  deeper  wall  of  rock ;  and  thus  on  till  we  reached  the 
bottom,  at  the  depth  of  a  thousaud  feet.  One  of  these  benches  of 
earth  is  the  fourth  of  a  mile  in  width,  and  broken  and  rent  in  all  its 
parts.  In  a  single  instauce  the  trail  crosses  a  yawning  chasm  by  a 
narrow  bridge  of  rocks,  where  a  single  false  step  would  plunge  the 
incautious  passer  by  down  a  frightful  precipice.  On  reaching  the 
last  terrace,  we  provided  ourselves  with  long,  heavy  canes  or  poles, 
and  stepped  on  the  black  and  suspicious  looking  floor  of  the  crater. 
Here  I  noticed  the  same  mental  phenomena  described  in  a  former  ar- 
ticle. Before  making  the  descent,  our  hearts  had  been  oppressed 
with  painful  solicitude,  but  the  moment  our  feet  were  on  the  bottom, 
all  such  feelings  vanished  as  phantoms  vanish  in  the  air,  leaving  in 
the  mind  no  sense  of  fear  or  danger. 

About  one  year  previous  to  our  visit,  the  entire  crater  had  been 
overflowed,  so  that  it  now  presented  a  very  nearly  uniform  appear- 
ance. The  surface  was  a  thin  crust  made  by  the  hardened  foam  of 
the  boiling  lava,  glossy,  vitreous,  cellular,  brittle  and  crackling  be- 


392  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

neath  our  feet.  It  was  of  all  hues  and  qualities,  mingled  in  all 
proportions,  and  beautiful  beyond  expression.  Below  was  the  solid 
lava,  covered,  however,  with  blisters  from  a  few  inches  to  mafiy  feet 
in  depth,  and  rent  by  innumerable  cracks  and  chasms.  Many  of  these 
blisters  were  rotten  and  brittle  and  would  break  under  our  weight. 
They  often  concealed  frightful  caverns,  into  which  the  visitor  who 
neglected  to  test  the  strength  of  the  crust  by  pounding  with  his 
heavy  cane  is  liable  to  be  plunged.  Often  the  pieces  of  crust  broken 
by  his  blows  will  fall  'mid  doleful  echoes  down  a  giddy  depth  of 
hundreds  of  feet,  while  the  hot  air  rushes  up  through  the  orifice  thus 
opened  with  a  noise  like  that  of  a  blow-pipe. 

In  the  southeast  part  of  the  crater  is  another  sulphur  bank.  Tow- 
ard that  we  now  shaped  our  way,  pounding  at  every  step  with  our 
canes,  carefully  passing  around  the  frightful  holes  our  blows  had 
opened,  stepping  cautiously  from  fragment  to  fragment  of  this  broken 
floor  of  rock,  jumping  with  all  our  strength  across  wide  chasms,  some- 
times containing  flowing  lava  but  a  few  feet  below  the  surface,  and 
often  turning  back  as  the  dismal  echoes  beneath  our  feet  warned  us 
of  caverns  too  extensive  to  be  safely  passed.  All  the  way  from 
thousands  of  vent-holes  hot  air  and  steam  were  escaping  with  every 
conceivable  variety  of  sound,  and  the  heat  was  almost  unendurable. 
For  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before  reaching  the  sulphur  bank,  we  were 
obliged  to  pass  over  a  field  of  lava,  where  the  echo  of  every  foot-fall 
warned  of  an  abyss  below  which  imagination  alone  could  fathom. 
Every  sound  rolled  off  for  minutes,  as  it  seemed  to  us,  in  all  direc- 
tions. Two  miles  and  a  half  of  such  traveling  brought  us  to  the  ob- 
ject of  our  toil.  It  was  so  similar  in  structure  and  appearance  to  the 
other  bank  before  described,  that  nothing  need  be  said  in  regard  to  it. 

After  completing  our  explorations  at  this  point,  we  next  turned 
our  steps  to  the  boiling  lake  in  the  southwest  part  of  the  crater,  and. 
distant  about  two  miles.  Near  it  the  surface  showed  signs  of  intense 
heat,  and  was  so  broken  and  irregular  as  to  furnish  a  very  precarious 
footing  and  make  the  most  courageous  heart  feel  some  inclination  to 
turn  back.  After  passing  entirely  around  the  lake  at  a  distance,  and 
carefully  surveying  its  walls  on  all  sides  from  the  opposite  bank,  in 
order  that  we  might  not  incautiously  stumble  on  a  projecting  point, 
which,  under  our  weight,  would  drop  into  the  burning  gulf,  we  drew 
near  and  gazed  upon  a  scene  that  will  remain  daguerreotyped  forever 
on  the  memory  of  every  beholder.     There,  at  the  bottom  of  this  huge 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  393 

pit  or  caldron,  which  was  at  least  sixty  rods  across  and  two  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  deep,  we  saw  liquid  lava,  with  a  heat  and  hue  like 
molten  iron  fresh  from  the  furnace,  boiling  in  terrible  fury,  throwing 
up  hundreds  of  jets  eight  or  ten  feet  in  diameter  and  forty  feet  high, 
rolling  and  leaping  and  spluttering  in  its  rage,  and  lashing  the  cal- 
dron's sides,  as  the  ocean,  maddened  by  storms,  lashes  the  rocky 
shore.  Sometimes  this  caldron  is  comparatively  still,  though  never 
entirely  quiescent ;  and  sometimes  it  throws  up  jets,  like  those  of  a 
fountain,  hundreds  of  feet  into  the  air,  which  fall  in  showers  of  red- 
hot  rock  far  and  near.  At  the  time  of  our  visit,  in  all  directions  over 
a  wide  space  around  were  strown  huge  gobbets  of  fresh  lava  as  an 
evidence  that  one  of  these  adamantine  showers  had  but  just  occurred. 
Occasionally  the  caldron  fills  up  and  overflows,  inundating  large  por- 
tions, and  sometimes  the  whole  of  the  crater.  Once  the  lava  over 
the  whole  caldron  was  seen  by  a  visitor  to  elevate  itself  to  the  hight 
of  a  hundred  feet  or  more  in  one  mighty  column,  where  it  remained 
playing  like  a  fountain  for  several  minutes.  These  displays  are  ac- 
companied by  hissing,  whizzing,  screeching  sounds,  in  comparison 
with  which  the  noise  of  a  thousand  steam  engines  is  as  insignificant 
as  the  tooting  of  a  boy's  whistle.  On  one  or  two  occasions  reports 
from  this  boiling  pit  as  loud  as  those  of  the  heaviest  artillery  have 
been  heard  succeeding  one  another  in  rapid  succession  for  hours  to- 
gether. At  such  times,  of  course,  no  person  would  be  fool-hardy 
enough  to  venture  near.  The  escape  of  gases  and  steam  is  so  abund- 
ant as  always  to  compell  the  visitor  to  choose  his  position  on  the 
windward  side  ;  and  often  they  entirely  forbid  his  approach.  Long, 
delicate  fibres  of  lava,  as  fine  as  the  web  of  the  silk  worm,  are  blown 
out  by  these  gases,  and  are  seen  floating  in  the  air  in  all  directions. 
They  can  be  gathered  up  by  handfuls  where  the  winds  have  blown 
them,  and  are  called  by  the  natives  Pele's  hair.  The  form  and  size 
of  this  caldron  are  constantly  changing,  being  sometimes  eliptical  and 
varying  from  forty  to  a  hundred  rods  in  width.  No  two  visitors  at 
different  times  ever  see  it  precisely  the  same.  Often  the  lava  settles 
down  two  or  three  hundred  feet,  as  at  the  time  of  our  visit ;  then 
again  it  can  be  dipped  up  with  a  spoon  tied  to  the  end  of  a  long  cane. 
It  has  been  seen  rolled  up  and  crusted  over  in  the  form  of  a  dome, 
while  rivers  of  liquid  lava  ran  off  from  it  in  all  directions.  Its  walls 
to-day  may  be  perpendicular ;  perhaps  to-morrow  their  edges  will 
drop  down  a  hundred  feet,  forming  a  steep  incline  plain  to  the  edge 


394  THE    HESPERIAN 

of  the  molten  lava.  Its  sides  are  constantly  falling  in,  and  the  visitor 
must  exercise  great  caution,  or  he  may  never  return  to  tell  of  the 
wonders  he  has  seen.  In  olden  time  this  caldron  was  held  in  great 
reverence  and  dread  by  the  natives.  Into  it  were  thrown  the  bones 
of  the  high  chiefs  and  the  votive  offerings  to  Pele.  It  was  her  home, 
where  she  bathed  in  the  burning  waves  and  danced  to  the  music  of 
the  crater. 

After  a  couple  of  hours  spent  on  the  brink  of  the  caldron,  where 
Mr.  Cheever  says  "  It  is  always  hazardous,  not  to  say  fool-hardy,  to 
stand  a  moment,  lest  your  uncertain  foothold,  crumbling  and  crispy 
by  the  action  of  the  fire,  shall  suddenly  give  way  and  throw  you  in- 
stantly into  the  embrace  of  death."  Our  lengthening  shadows 
warned  us  to  depart,  and  we  reluctantly  turned  away  and  directed 
our  steps  toward  the  point  where  we  had  descended.  Passing  on  our 
way  a  large  number  of  cones,  chimneys  and  breathing-holes,  and 
many  curious  and  fantastic  formations  of  lava,  we  reached  our  camp 
just  as  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  lighting  up  with  their 
smile  the  desolate  scenes  around  us. 

The  action  and  appearance  of  the  whole  crater  are  ever  changing,  it 
occasionally  filling  up  to  within  a  hundred  yards  or  so  of  the  top, 
then,  on  the  breaking  out  of  the  liquid  mass  through  some  subterra- 
nean duct,  settling  down  to  a  depth  of  twelve  hundred  feet.  During 
its  active  states  earthquakes  are  of  constant  occurrence.  Its  walls, 
too,  are  continually  falling  in,  and  the  broken  terraces  on  its  north 
side  are  settling  down  further  and  further.  Thus  the  crater  is  grad- 
ually extending  its  limits,  and  doubtless  will  eventually  cover  the  en- 
tire area  of  the  sunken  plain.  Its  activity  is  always  greatest  just  be- 
fore an  eruption  on  Mauna  Loa,  and  yet  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  there 
can  be  any  direct  connection  between  them,  since  the  craters  on  the 
mountain  are  four  or  five  thousand  feet  above  Kilauea.  In  olden 
time  it  was  undoubtedly  more  active  than  at  present.  Tradition  says 
it  frequently  threw  out  large  quantities  of  sand,  the  truth  of  which 
is  evident  from  the  quantities  in  the  country  around.  It  was,  too, 
subject  to  terrific  eruptions  of  gases.  About  seventy  years  ago,  a 
whole  company  of  natives,  while  passing  by,  were  destroyed  by  such 
a  phenomenon.  For  many  years  there  have  been  no  such  violent 
manifestations,  but  doubtless  they  are  liable  to  occur  at  any  moment. 
Every  person,  I  believe,  who  goes  down  into  these  fiery  depths,  goes 
down  at  the  risk  of  his  life.     No  white  person,  it  is  true,  has  yet 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  395 

been  destroyed  there,  but  many  have  escaped  very  much  as  Job  did 
— he  "  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth  ;"  they  by  the  skin  of  their  backs  and 
limbs.  The  crater  was  formerly  regarded  by  the  natives  with  great 
fear  and  dread,  none  daring  to  pass  it  without  an  offering  to  Pele. 
Drawing  near  with  awful  reverence,  on  his  bended  knees  the  traveler 
reverently  threw  over  the  brink  a  piece  of  Jcapa,  or  Jcalo,  or  a  pig,  or 
a  dog,  or  at  least  a  few  berries  of  the  sacred  ohelo,  as  a  peace  offering 
to  the  dread  divinity  that  reveled  in  the  fires  below ;  and  then  with 
trembling  steps  and  fearful  heart  hastened  on,  lest  he  should  be  over- 
whelmed by  some  sudden  demonstration  of  her  anger. 

Thus  ended  a  day  never  to  be  forgotten,  amid  scenes,  that  now, 
after  the  lapse  of  years,  come  thronging  back  on  the  memory  with 
all  the  vividness  of  first  impression.  The  tropical  scenery,  the  grand 
old  forests,  and  the  terrific  displays  of  an  inconceivable  power  at  the 
crater,  are  continually  returning  to  inspire  the  best  thoughts  and 
feelings.  No  lover  of  nature,  it  seems  to  me,  can  pass  through  these 
sublime  solitudes,  unmarred  and  unbroken  from  age  to  age,  save  by 
the  occasional  tramp  of  the  tourist  or  by  the  morning  anthem  of  birds, 
without  feeling  his  heart  expand  with  gratitude  to  the  Infinite  Archi- 
tect, who  planned  this  splendid  scenery  and  scattered  beauties  so  pro- 
fusely over  this  island  gem  of  the  ocean.  And  I  envy  not  the  soul 
that  can  contemplate  such  displays  of  the  beautiful  as  I  have  at- 
tempted to  describe,  without  an  intense  emotion  of  reverence  for  the 
Author.  Such  a  soul  must  be  strangely  wanting  in  the  finest  and 
noblest  sensibilities  of  our  nature.  It  must  be  stagnant  and  desolate 
and  destitute  of  the  essentials  of  a  genuine  humanity.  How  can  it 
be  a  soul  of  the  divine  workmanship  in  its  normal  state  ?  How  can 
it  be  anything  but  the  defaced  and  fragmentary  ruins  of  the  noble 
creature  which  God  made  in  his  own  image,  to  dress,  to  keep  and  to 
love  these  earthly  paradises,  and  to  admire,  adore,  and  reverence 
Him  through  these  grand  displays  of  his  power  ? 


A  wise  traveller  will  push  forward  to  the  end  of  his  journey,  intent 
on  the  business  he  has  in  hand.  If  we  feel  the  importance  of  the 
business  of  life,  we  shall  not  loiter  on  our  way  to  eternity. 

Our  actions  ought  to  be  influenced  by  a  sense  of  duty  ;  not  regulated 
by  motives  of  expediency. 


CAPITAL     PUNISHMENT. 


BY  W.  WELLINGTON  CAKPENTEK,  M.  D. 


In  the  Hesperian  for  November  I  find  an  article  bearing  the  above 
title.  It  is  certainly  not  a  reply,  nor  an  attempt  at  a  reply,  to  my 
article  on  the  same  subject  in  the  Hesperian  for  June,  and  yet  it  is 
addressed  to  the  author  of  that  article.  It  is  a  clever  and  courteous 
production,  and  bears  evidence  of  having  emanated  from  the  pen  of 
a  gentleman  ;  but  in  all  kindness  and  sincerity  I  must  be  permitted 
to  implore  "  S.  R."  to  advise  me'  which  side  of  the  question  under 
consideration  he  desires  to  advocate.  "  S.  R."  starts  off  with  "  Vol- 
taire long  since  wrote,  and  justly,  in  opposition  to  capital  punishment ;" 
and  then  winds  up  with  an  urgent  appeal  in  defense  of  taking  human 
life.  "  S.  R."  propounds  three  interrogatories  to  me,  all  of  which 
embrace  simply  a  question  of  legal  technicality,  but  not  one  of  which 
involves  a  code  of  moral  ethics,  nor  any  part  of  such  a  code,  and  con- 
sequently has  nothing  to  do  with  the  subject  under  discussion.  The 
gentleman  advances  the  case  of  Orsini  as  a  stunner,  but  he  will  have 
to  pardon  me  if  I  advise  him  that  I  am  so  unsophisticated  as  to  pre- 
clude the  possibility  of  my  seeing  the  point.  However,  he  displays 
a  commendable  generosity  and  leniency  in  the  premises.  After  im- 
ploring me  to  make  a  disposition  of  the  case,  apprehending,  I  sup- 
pose, that  the  task  would  be  too  arduous  for  me,  he  very  kindly  re- 
leases me  from  the  obligation,  on  the  ground  that  it  is  "therefore  not 
entirely  the  case  for  Dr.  Carpenter  to  operate  upon."  Generous  man ! 
What  a  hypothesis.  The  idea  that  because  a  man  was  born  in  a 
high  social  circle,  and  was  the  recipient  of  a  polished  education,  that 
he  must  necessarily  be  a  perfect  moral  anomaly.  Such  is  the  implied 
inference  of  "  S.  R.,"  and  yet  the  very  case  (Orsini)  which  he  cites  in 
its  substantiation,  proves  the  opposite  question.  Had  "  S.  R."  read  my 
article  in  the  Hesperian  for  June  attentively,  he  would  have  found 
every  question  which  he  has  propounded  to  me  therein  answered,  re- 
answered,  trebly-answered,  and  incontrovertibly  answered,  but  as  he 
seems  not  to  have  done  so,  I  will  answer  him  again,  although  I  shall 
be  compelled  to  be  very  brief,  because  the  rare  pages  of  the 
Hesperian  are  altogether  too  precious  to  admit  of  going  into  de- 


Capital  Punish  men  t.  397 

tail.  I  will  answer  "  S.  R."  by  stating  my  ideal,  or  conception  of  a 
code  of  moral  ethics  for  society  ;  and  if  he  can  see  any  chance  for  any 
single,  isolated  persons  to  escape  its  general,  universal  provisions, 
then  with  all  justness  and  plausibility  may  he  call  me  aside  to  answer 
individual  cases,  All  individual  human  beings  are  atoms  in  the  great 
body  of  society  which  form  a  whole  ;  and  while  each  individual  atom 
has  its  legitimate  sphere  of  action  as  a  social  element,  the  happiness 
and  welfare  of  every  shattered  fragment  is  indissolubly  bound  up  in 
the  interest  and  prosperity  of  the  whole  body.  Society  as  a  whole  is 
solely  and  exclusively  responsible  for  all  the  evil  in  existence,  and  it 
justly  devolves  upon  the  community  as  a  whole  to  eradicate  that  evil 
from  its  presence  ;  not  by  cutting  their  heads  off,  and  other  methods 
of  extinguishing  the  flickering  flame  of  mortal  existence,  but  by  a 
system  of  universal  moral  culture,  for  the  improvement  and  elevation 
of  all  mankind.  All  forms  of  evils  in  society,  festering  ulcers  upon 
the  body  of  humanity,  are  so  many  warning  symptoms  that  there  is 
something  radically  wrong  in  the  conditions  of  that  society,  some 
lurking  disease  in  its  constitution,  to  force  attention  to  the  fact,  to 
excite  investigation  into  the  causes  that  are  producing  these  evils,  and 
to  force  their  eradication,  just  as  physical  pain  directs  the  sufferer  to 
find  out  and  remove  its  cause — not  by  killing  the  body,  but  by  re- 
moving the  disease  therefrom.  Of  course  no  person  will  under- 
stand me  as  advocating  that  all  persons  are  equally  evil,  and  all 
equally  good — that  would  be  preposterous.  But  those  who  are  the 
most  wicked  stand  the  most  in  need  of  mercy,  sympathy  and  moral 
culture.  When  an  unfortunate  brother  commits  a  great  crime,  we 
should  ask  ourselves  "  would  the  best  of  us  not  have  done  the  same 
thing  under  the  same  circumstances'?" 

"But,"  exclaims  "  S.  R."  "are  there  not  cases  in  which  it  is 
necessary  to  take  life  as  a  terror  and  example  to  society  ?"  What  an 
idea  !  What  an  example  to  society  !  The  taking  of  human  life  as  a 
pattern  to  society.  The  condition  of  man  never  was,  and  never  will 
be  bettered  by  operating  on  the  passions.  Fear  only  serves  to  keep 
our  wrong  impulses  locked  up  within  us,  and  does  not  eradicate  them 
and  make  us  better.  That  person  is  only  good  who  is  so  through 
pure  love.  Mortal  never  was  made  better  through  fear  of  punishment. 
Do  you  really  consider  him  a  good  citizen  who  is  kept  from  stealing 
your  property  by  the  fear  of  the  jail?  Fear  may  keep  the  tempted 
from  displaying  what  nevertheless  exists  in  the  heart  when  the  prob- 
ability of  exposure  is  great.  It  never  removes  cause,  but  may  for  a 
time  prevent  an  external  development  of  effect.  And  when  will  man- 
kind learn  that  important  fact  ?  It  would  appear  as  if  we  employed 
these  debasing  methods  of  punishment  for  no  other  reason  than  that 
the  ancients  used  them  six  thousand  years  ago,  without  giving  one 
thought  to  the  fact  that  we  should  have  progressed  much  in  that 
particular  as  well  as  others.     Why  even  they  never  pretended  that 


398  THE    HESPERIAN. 

such  brutal  laws  had  a  tendency  to  better  mankind,  but  that  the 
savage,  undeveloped  state  of  the  world  at  that  day  necessitated  their 
employment.  But  they  have  still  a  worse  side.  The  very  fear  of 
being  made  the  subject  of  such  death-torturing  laws,  is  the  cause  of 
an  immense  amount  of  crime.  It  was  the  fear  that  the  passions  of 
the  populace  would  fasten  upon  him  a  crime  which  he  was  not  guilty 
of,  that  caused  G.  to  commit  the  only  crime  which  he  did  commit  at 
all  in  the  premises.  Had  England  been  governed  by  amoral  code — 
a  code  tinctured  with  mercy  and  justice — do  you  suppose  that  Gr. 
would  have  had  the  least  incentive  to  sever  that  woman  in  three 
parts,  or  to  have  attempted  to  conceal  the  facts  of  the  case  in  any 
shape  ?  Of  course  not.  In  that  case  the  public  wTould  have  received 
the  truth,  because  there  would  have  been  no  inducement  for  its  con- 
cealment. But  he  well  knew  that  with  our  present  laws,  and  in  the 
present  state  of  public  opinion,  had  she  accidentally  tipped  over  and 
broken  her  neck  without  his  being  in  any  way  accountable  for  it,  his 
declaration  of  innocence  would  have  amounted  to  nothing  in  the 
scales  against  the  fact  of  his  presence,  and  the  certain  result  would 
have  been  his  becoming  a  candidate  for  the  gallows.  All  the  world 
must  see  that  our  present  severe  restrictive  laws  have  a  very  immoral 
tendency.  So  long  as  men  know  that  if  a  knowledge  of  their  crime 
reaches  publicity,  they  will  have  their  lives  taken,  or  be  otherwise 
ruined,  so  long  will  they  study  to  conceal  the  facts.  But  when  we 
conclude  to  be  governed  by  that  glorious  rule  "Do  ye  unto  others 
as  ye  would  that  others  should  do  unto  you,"  then  will  the  incentive 
of  deception  cease,  and  the  word  of  man  be  looked  upon  as  of  some 
value.  Then  will  courts  of  inquiry — of  intrigue — be  abolished,  for 
when  the  unfortunate  learn  that  the  only  object  the  community  have 
in  ascertaining  the  extent  of  their  crime  is  to  better  their  moral  con- 
dition, they  will  freely  and  willingly  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  buf.  the  truth.  Now  it  is  well  known  that  the  word  of 
the  criminal  is  never  believed.  Every  member  of  society  exerts  more 
or  less  evil  influence — some  more  and  some  less — and  the  ability  of 
different  persons  to  resist  those  evil  examples  is  correspondingly  va- 
ried. A  thousand  causes  combine  to  shield  some  persons  against 
temptation,  whereas  a  like  number  of  opposing  causes  render  others 
perfectly  defenceless.  Many  poor  unfortunate  subjects  are  born  with 
such  sadly  defective  moral  constitutions,  that  it  is  utterly  impossible 
for  them  to  resist  evil  influences  to  the  extent  that  more  fortunate 
persons  can.  Such  unfortunate  members  of  society  require  much 
encouragement  and  development ;  and  their  more  fortunate  brethren 
should  rejoice  in  their  ability  and  willingness  to  grant  it.  The  main 
features  of  my  plan  of  accomplishing  this  reformation  of  society  have 
been  published  in  another  paper,  and  I  have  not  room  to  repeat  it 
here — having  already  occupied  double  the  room  that  I  had  intended 
in  the  commencement. 


SKETCHES  OF  MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  NEIGHBORS. 


THE    WIDOW    CKOLEY   AND    HER    BEAUTIFUL   NIECE. 


BY   MRS.  S.  M.  CLARKE. 


A  long  pause  succeeded  the  conversation  we  have  recorded.  The 
look  of  offended  pride  that  marked  the  Widow  Croley's  face  at  the 
commencement,  gave  place  to  one  of  serious  thought,  blended  with 
sorrowful  tenderness.     At  length  she  replied  : — 

"  My  child,  your  last  words  carry  me  back  through  long,  suffering 
years,  and  revive  my  own  youth,  when  I,  too,  felt  the  same  desire  for 
self-improvement,  and  the  same  deep  thirst  for  knowledge.  But  the 
many  sorrowful  experiences  of  life  have  quenched  the  ardor  of  my 
spirit,  and  I  am  another  self  than  I  was  when  I  looked  forth  upon  life 
from  the  dazzling  hight  of  my  youthful  aspirations.  But  enough  of 
the  old  sentiment  has  re-awakened  to  enable  me  to  sympathize  with, 
and  desire  to  aid  you  in  the  attainment  of  your  wishes.  And  even 
now,  while  you  were  speaking,  it  appeared  to  me  for  a  moment  that 
I  might  bury  all  the  past,  begin  a  new  life  with  you,  and  realize  my 
early  ambitions.  But  this  dead  weight  at  my  heart  presses  so  hard 
upon  the  springs  of  life,  that  healthy  reaction  seems  almost  impossible. 
Yet,  with  the  help  of  God,  I  can  try,  and  will,  for  your  sake,  my  child. 
I  see  clearly  now,"  she  continued,  "  that  your  nature  is  not  adapted 
to  a  quiet,  country  life,  and  my  pride  shall  not  prevent  you  from  doing 
all  in  your  power  to  render  it  tolerable.  And  if  you  continue  to  think 
that  you  would  be  happier  teaching  school,  I  will  speak  to  Parson  Kind- 
ley,  and  forward  your  wishes.  But  I  object  to  your  picture  of  country 
life ;  it  is  altogether  too  sombre.  In  your  aversion  for  the  country, 
you  overlook  the  important  fact  that  it  must  be  inhabited,  or  the  cities 
could  not  be  populous  ;  their  prosperity  depends  upon  the  tillers  of 
the  soil." 

"  It  is  not  the  country,  dearest  aunt,  so  much  as  the  life  of  the 
country,  to  which  I  object ;  it  is  the  fearful  dearth  of  intelligence  and 
destitution  of  taste,  which  are  not  needful  conditions.  There  must  be 
something  wrong  in  the  social  arrangement.  But  I  believe  that  the 
time  will  arrive,  although  I  may  not  live  to  see  it,  when  country  life  will 
become  attractive,  and  promotive  of  refinement  and  knowledge.  In 
2 


400  THE    HESPERIAN. 

a  more  advanced  state  of  society,  farming  will  be  done  by  associated 
labor  ;  and  greater  economy  and  thrift  will  be  the  result.  A  few  fam- 
ilies of  harmonious  dispositions  and  interests,  will  unite,  erect  contig- 
uous cottages,  or  one  commodious  mansion  with  private  apartments 
for  each  family,  and  thus,  encouraged  by  each  others'  presence,  per- 
form cheerfully  together  the  labor  which  is  now  executed,  individ- 
ually, with  a  slow  hand  and  a  heavy  heart.  If  six  families  (for  illus- 
tration) were  to  unite  in  this  manner,  one  kitchen  and  fire  would  be 
sufficient  for  all  their  culinary  purposes,  and  there  would  be  a  saving 
of  five  fires  during  the  summer  season,  and  a  proportional  economy 
in  labor.  The  work  of  the  laundry,  which  now  occupies  twelve  days 
in  the  aggregate,  could  be  easily  performed  in  two,  and  indeed  all  the 
labor  of  the  associated  families  would  be  lessened  in  the  same  degree. 
And  the  cultivation  of  the  soil,  also,  by  the  men,  would  prove  equally 
advantageous  in  association,  as  no  hired  laborers  would  be  needed  for 
farming  operations,  and  the  greater  saving  of  money,  strength,  and 
time,  would  afford  leisure  for  intellectual  culture ;  while  the  associa- 
tion of  different  families  would  awaken  social  ambitions,  would  excite 
a  spirit  of  emulation  in  regard  to  dress  and  manners,  and  thus  form  a 
higher  standard  of  taste,  and  so  the  farming  community  would  become 
refined  and  intelligent." 

"Utopian!  my  child,  Utopian!"  exclaimed  the  widow.  "Dan- 
gerous ground  for  the  young.  It  is  fascinating,  I  admit,  but  exceed- 
ingly unsafe  to  indulge  in  such  vagaries  of  the  imagination  ;  there  is 
no  telling  where  they  may  lead." 

"  But  it  appears  to  me,  dearest  aunt,  that  there  may  be  as  much 
truth  in  the  pictures  of  the  imagination,  as  in  the  demonstrations  of 
the  reason  ;  we  cannot  go  beyond  the  truths  of  nature  by  any  normal 
exercise  and  action  of  our  minds.  In  our  highest  flights  we  cannot 
pass  the  limits  of  the  possible ;  even  the  Heavenly  Father,  who  be- 
stowed the  faculties  of  reason  and  imagination,  cannot  do  that,  for  the 
inspired  writers  tell  us:  'All  things  are  possible  with  God.'  One 
faculty  is  more  intellectual ;  the  other  more  spiritual.  Demonstra- 
tive reason,  being  based  upon  the  material  and  tangible,  is  inductive 
in  its  comparatively  slow  process.  Imagination  is  intuitive  in  its 
action,  being  more  spiritual  and  nearer  the  soul  of  the  universe;  and 
it  speaks  with  greater  assurance  of  the  possible,  and  often  utters  itself 
in  prophecies,  and  if  it  call  in  the  aid  of  reason,  it  reasons  deductively, 
because  of  its  nearer  and  clearer  view  of  the  grand,  central  truths  of 
God.     Yes,  dearest  aunt,  I  have  often  thought  that  in  our  most  eleva- 


My  Grandmother  s  Neighbors.  401 

ted  moments,  we  cannot  imagine  any  great  humanitary  good  that  may 
not  be  realized.  But  the  thought  of  the  world  has  always  been  a 
thousand  years  in  advance  of  its  practice.  We  must  wait  patiently 
for  the  coming  good.  The  idea  of  something  better  must  ever  be  in  ad- 
vance of  its  condition — it  is  the  spiritual,  giving  life  and  activity  to 
the  material ; — it  is  the  heavenly  bow  upon  earth's  clouded  sky.  And 
the  thought  that  now  arches  my  spiritual  horizon,  beautiful  with  the 
colors  of  imagination,  appears  to  me  like  a  promise  from  the  Father, 
that  my  hope  for  the  improvement  of  my  race  shall  not  be  disap- 
pointed." 

"  May  Heaven  preserve  your  sublime  faith,  my  child.  And  yet 
I  fear  that  the  sin  and  misery  of  the  world  will  sometimes  lead  you  to 
doubt,  and  its  care  and  sorrow,  pressing  heavily  upon  your  spirit,  will 
narrow  the  broad  horizon  of  your  sympathies.  But  let  us  turn  once 
more  to  a  less  agreeable  subject — the  District  School.  Are  you  aware, 
my  child,  that  the  compensation  for  teaching  bears  no  proportion  to 
the  labor  ?  The  small  pittance  of  thirty  dollars  is  all  that  the  School 
Committee  allow  for  three  months  of  unremitting  effort.  And  the 
teacher  is  expected  to  '  board  round'  in  the  different  families  of  her 
pupils.  But  I  could  not  think  for  a  moment  of  permitting  you  to  do 
so.     Maple  Hall  will  continue  to  be  your  home." 

"  You  are  very,  very  kind,  dearest  aunt,  and  thoughtful  of  me,  but 
I  hope  that  you  will  not  oppose  my  wish  to  follow  the  example  of 
former  teachers  in  this  particular.  I  have  reasons  for  '  boarding 
round'  that  I  think  you  will  approve.  And  first,  I  perceive  that  we 
are  already  regarded  with  jealous  feeling  by  many  of  our  neighbors 
less  favored  of  fortune,  and  were  I  to  remain  at  Maple  Hall  during 
my  term  of  teaching,  they  would  say  at  once  that  I  am  too  proud  to 
share  their  humble  dwellings,  and  would  harden  their  hearts  against 
me.  The  children  would  catch  the  same  tone  of  feeling,  and  my  use- 
fulness would  be  lessened,  while  my  labors  would  be  greatly  increased. 
For  I  have  often  observed  that  where  sympathy  is  established  between 
teacher  and  pupil,  the  mind  of  the  latter  is  in  a  more  favorable  con- 
dition to  receive  instruction,  and  consequently,  much  of  the  difficulty 
of  imparting  it  is  overcome.  Another  reason  for  '  boarding  round'  is, 
I  wish  to  see  more  of  the  interior  life  of  the  people,  to  learn,  if  possi- 
ble, the  balancing  power  of  their  minds.  They  are,  apparently,  con- 
tented in  their  present  condition,  and  yet  it  is  not  such  as  ought  to 
satisfy  intelligent  human  beings.  I  think  of  writing  a  book  on  social 
science  at  some  future  time,  and  would  like  to  become. intimately  ac- 


402  THE    HESPERIAN. 

quainted  with  all  classes  of  society,  that  I  may  prepare  myself,  by  ob- 
servation and  study,  to  do  justice  to  the  subject.  You  smile,  dearest 
aunt,  at  what  you  esteem  my  youthful  presumption  in  planning  a  task 
of  such  magnitude — one  that  would  tax  the  intellect  of  a  philosopher 
— and  I  do  not  marvel  that  it  amuses  you.  I  often  smile  at  my  own 
daring.  But  I  have  a  natural  tendency  to  observe  social  conditions 
and  abuses,  and  I  feel  a  deep  sympathy  with  all  who  are  oppressed,  of 
every  class  and  nation,  and  a  strong  desire  to  do  something  for  them. 
The  sound  of  moving  multitudes  speaks  always  to  my  soul  in  clarion 
tones — work — work,  but  where  shall  I  begin,  and  what  shall  I  do?  is 
the  only  response  I  have  yet  given.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  not  be 
qualified  to  write  the  book — that  Providence  has  apportioned  me 
another  kind  of  labor  ;  but  I  know  that  I  have  something  to  do.  Since 
my  earliest  recollection  I  have  felt  within  myself,  my  inner  self,  a 
consciousness  of  some  unfulfilled  obligation,  of  some  mission  to  per- 
form, and  a  '  still,  small  voice'  is  constantly  whispering  in  my  spirit 
ear — prepare.  So  that  I  feel  myself  to  be  always  a  pupil,  seeking  to 
learn  something  of  all  things — of  books,  of  nature,  and  of  human 
beings — striving  to  penetrate  the  heart  of  the  life-mystery,  that  I  may 
be  ready  for  what  I  am  to  do  when  the  time  for  action  comes.  There 
are  moments  when  this  consciousness  presses  painfully  upon  my  spirit, 
and  I  feel  as  though  I  were  burdened  with  the  sorrows  of  the  millions, 
and  must  send  up  a  deep,  strong  cry  to  the  Father  for  aid,  and  at 
other  times  it  comes  with  a  feeling  of  exaltation,  surrounding  me  with 
a  moral  atmosphere  of  light  and  beautv. 

"But  I  have  wandered  far  away  from  the  important  subject  of  con- 
versation. Will  you  not  consent  for  me  to  '  board  round,'  dearest 
aunt?" 

Again  there  rested  upon  the  Widow  Croley's  still  fine  face  an  expres- 
sion of  religious  awe,  blended  with  tender,  thoughtful  sadness.  At 
length  she  replied : 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  desire,  my  child.  I  had  thought  that  I  could 
not  consent  to  this.  The  idea  of  your  '  boarding  round,'  was,  at  first, 
humiliating  to  my  pride,  I  candidly  confess,  and  it  was  also  trying  to 
my  feelings  to  think  of  the  many  annoyances  and  inconveniences  to 
which  you  would  be  subject  in  the  new  situation,  and  it  was  painful 
too,  to  send  my  beautiful  dove  away  from  the  ark  of  home,  a  wanderer. 
But  the  reasons  you  have  given  for  doing  so,  reconcile  me  to  it,  par- 
tially, for  your  sake,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  derive  all  the  advant- 
ages you  anticipate  from  the  new  experiences  you  will  gain ;  then  I 


My  Grandmother  s  Neighbors.  403 

shall  feel  compensated  for  the  sacrifice  I  make  in  parting  with  you. 

"  You  affect  me  very  strangely,  my  child,"  she  continued :  "  I 
thought  when  I  brought  you  to  Maple  Hall,  that  I  was  taking  a  child 
to  my  bosom  to  love  and  cherish,  one  who  would  need  my  experience 
and  judgment  to  guide  her  tender  years ;  but  in  place  of  such,  I  find 
a  self-poised  woman  and  companion,  who  appears  to  me  to  be  directed 
by  a  power  so  far  superior  to  mine,  that  I  feel  more  like  being  guided 
by  her,  than  guiding." 

"  And  so  I  am  a  child,  dearest  aunt,"  Sarah  Mandiville  replied, 
rising  and  throwing  her  arms  impassionedly  around  her  relative,  "  a 
mere  child,  requiring  your  love  and  care,  0,  so  much  !  I  seem  to 
possess  two  natures  ;  one  strong,  self-reliant  and  eager  for  action  ; 
another,  weak,  dependent  and  loving,  with  a  deep  yearning  for  sym- 
pathy and  affection  that  language  is  powerless  to  express.  Bear  with 
me  and  love  me  all  you  can  ;  your  love  and  sympathy  is  the  sweetest 
solace  of  my  life — it  has  been  everything  to  me  since  the  death  of  my 
dear  father." 

A  servant  entered  announcing  dinner,  and  the  conversation  turned 
upon  other  subjects,  as,  with  arms  and  hearts  entwined,  they  obeyed 
the  summons.  But  from  thenceforth,  a  fuller,  warmer  sympathy  was 
established  between  those  lovely  women,  from  a  clearer  perception  of 
each  others  feelings  and  natures. 

The  "Widow  Croley  took  an  early  opportunity  of  seeing  Parson 
Kindley  and  securing  for  her  niece  the  situation  of  teacher  of  the  Dis- 
trict School.  But  the  1ST eighbors  were  amazed  beyond  measure  when 
they  learned  the  fact.  Conjecture  was  everywhere  busy  to  ascertain 
the  reason  "  why  that  beautiful  young  creature  should  think  of  un- 
dertaking such  a  disagreeable  and  laborious  business.  There  must 
have  been  a  falling  out  between  her  and  her  proud  relative — very 
likely  that  the  widow  had  disinherited  her— very  likely  the  poor  girl  did 
not  find  it  any  too  pleasant  at  Maple  Hall — very  likely  she  had  good 
reasons  for  wishing  to  be  a  little  independent,  and  they  didn't  blame 
her  either,  to  be  sure  ;  but  it  was  such  a  pity  for  her  to  be  obliged  to 
make  her  own  way  in  the  world,  and  she  so  young,  too,  and  so  beau- 
tiful.    Well,  well — it  was  a  pity." 

On  the  first  of  the  following  June,  Sarah  Mandiville  entered  upon 
the  duties  of  teacher.  She  had  never  before  seen  a  country  school, 
and  was  much  amused  at  the  novel  appearance  her  pupils  presented. 
There  were  toddlings  of  three  years,  and  raw-boned  youths  of  twenty, 
and  bashful,  barefooted  maidens  of  fifteen  and  upward,  pale  and  ema- 


404  THE    HESPEKIAN. 

ciated  from  over-taxed  powers ;  and  there  were  timid  girls  and  fun- 
loving  boys  of  eight  and  twelve  summers,  of  all  shades  of  complexion 
and  all  degrees  of  development  peculiar  to  their  ages.  To  class  this 
heterogeneous  collection  of  pupils,  appeared  at  first  view  morally  im- 
possible, as  size  and  age  afforded  no  indication  of  intellectual  devel- 
opment. A  girl  of  ten  years,  was  often  found  to  be  as  far  advanced 
in  the  routine  of  study  as  a  youth  of  sixteen  ;  and  to  teach  fifty  pupils 
separately,  seemed  equally  impossible.  This  discrepancy  in  age  and 
ability,  rendered  her  first  week  of  duty  exceedingly  perplexing  and 
toilsome.  But  she  succeeded  admirably  in  bringing  order  out  of  con- 
fusion, and  in  winning  the  respect  and  confidence  of  her  scholars, 
which  rendered  her  after  labor  comparatively  easy  and  pleasant. 

Every  Saturday  at  twelve  o'clock,  "  the  beautiful  schoolmistress," 
as  the  Keighboes  now  termed  Sarah  Mandiville,  was  released  from 
her  duties,  and  with  a  delightful  sense  of  freedom,  such  as  an  uncaged 
bird  may  feel  when  it  tries  once  more  its  wings,  she  returned  to  Maple 
Hall  to  pass  the  half  holiday  and  the  Sabbath  with  her  aunt.  Those 
were  pleasant  reunions  for  both.  Sarah  would  relate  to  the  widow 
the  haps  and  mishaps  of  the  week  in  her  most  humorous  vein  ;  and 
she  would  unbend  from  her  dignity  and  laugh  merrily  at  the  nar- 
ration. 

The  school-house  was  situated  nearly  a  mile  distant  from  Maple 
Hall,  at  the  summit  of  an  intervening  hill.  Near  the  base  of  the  hill 
there  was  a  secret  spring  which  reduced  the  clayey  soil  of  that  district 
to  the  most  adhesive  mire,  and  woe  to  the  pedestrian  who  walked  un- 
warily upon  the  few  feet  of  earth  appropriated  by  this  reservoir  of 
nature.  Once  in  its  mire  and  it  were  bootless  to  attempt  to  escape 
with  boots  ;  the  soil  clung  with  hopeless  persistency,  as  though  some 
mischievous  gnome  had  resolved  upon  appropriating  the  booty.  It 
were  better  for  the  unfortunate  victim  not  to  waste  time  and  strength 
in  an  unequal  and  exhausting  conflict,  for  the  sprite  was  sure  to  tri- 
umph. To  leave  as  soon  as  possible  both  mire  and  boots,  was  the 
part  of  wisdom. 

On  one  occasion,  our  heroine,  in  her  eagerness  to  return  to  Maple 
Hall,  overlooked  the  snare,  and  the  consequence  was  that  she  met  her 
aunt,  who  was  awaiting  her,  with  the  lower  portion  of  her  limbs  in- 
cased in  cla}r  instead  of  boots,  much  to  the  amazement  of  the  lady. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  dearest  aunt,"  Sarah  Mandiville  exclaimed, 
laughing  merrily  the  while,  "the  truth  is  that  your  unworthy  'Pil- 
grim' in  descending  the  'Hill  of  Difficulty,'  fell,  most  unfortunately, 


My  Grandmother  s  Neighbors.  405 

into  the  '  Slough  of  Despond,'  and  this  is  the  ridiculous  result.  It  is 
the  grand  climax  of  my  week  of  adventures,  which  I  am  sure  will 
amuse  you." 

"  Do  hasten  and  change  your  garments,  my  child.  I  am  fearful 
that  you  have  already  taken  a  severe  cold,"  the  widow  exclaimed 
with  a  look  of  anxiety  ;  and  with  her  own  hands  she  prepared  a  warm 
"  toddy"  of  old  Jamaica  spirits  for  her  niece.  It  was  regarded  at  that 
time  as  a  necessary  precaution  after  any  unusual  exposure  of  the  per- 
son. When  they  were  comfortably  seated  in  their  cheerful  sitting 
room,  the  beautiful  schoolmistress  informed  her  aunt  that  she  had 
been  boarding  through  the  past  week  at  the  "godly"  Mr.  Claptrap's,  as 
he  was  called  by  the  Neighbors,  for  his  peculiarly  solemn  visage,  and 
for  devotion  to  religious  duties.  "  Only  to  think  of  listening  for  a 
whole  week,  every  morning  and  evening,  to  his  long,  prosy  prayers, 
composed  principally  of  scripture  phrases,  incorrectly  quoted  and  mis- 
applied. Listen  a  moment,  (I  can  repeat  them  verbatim,  as  there  was 
little  variation  in  them,  saving  at  the  opening  and  close,  which  refer- 
ed  to  the  time  of  day,  the  success  of  the  crops,  and  the  health  of  the 
village,)  and  judge  if  I  have  not  been  peculiarly  edified.  One  or  two 
sentences  will  give  you  a  fair  report  of  the  whole : — '  May  the  time 
speedily  arrive  when  Christ  shall  have  all  the  heathen  for  a  procession, 
and  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  arth  for  an  inheritance — when  the  chil- 
dren of  the  kingdom  shall  no  longer  go  a  hankerin  arter  the  flesh-pots 
of  Egypt,  but  shall  be  well  filled  and  satisfied  with  the  He  and  wine 
of  greece,  (grace)  and  when  the  hosses  and  chariots  of  fire,  which  the 
prophet  saw  in  vision,  shall  scare  away  all  the  inimies  of  Israel.'  It 
may  be  wicked,  dearest  aunt,  but  I  frankly  acknowledge  that  such 
prayers  excite  my  mirthful,  even  more  strongly  than  my  devotional 
feelings. 

"  The  Claptraps  resemble  the  famous  Rogers  family,  numerically  ; 
there  are  '  ten  children  and  one  at  the  breast.'  The  eldest  of  these 
is  a  daughter  who  is  exceedingly  tall  and  meagre  in  appearance,  the 
very  personification  of  famine.  The  other  children  are  sons,  all  of 
Pharaoh's  lean  kind,  and  who  appear  to  possess — instead  of  the  nor- 
mal, playful  good-humor  of  children — a  mischievous,  fun-loving  pro- 
pensity. While  the  father  is  engaged  in  his  devotional  exercises,  the 
mother  occupies  herself  in  keeping  the  three  youngest  quiet,  who 
kneel  about  her  chair.  The  older  ones,  who  are  kneeling  in  different 
parts  of  the  room,  amuse  themselves  the  while  in  giving  each  other 
sly  pinches,  as  proximity  affords  opportunity,  or  unexpected  thrusts 


406  THE    HESPERIAN. 

with  the  bare,  soiled  feet,  or  in  chewing  up  bits  of  paper  and  tossing 
the  ball  into  the  first  face  that  peeps  round  to  see  what  mischief  is 
going  on.  A  successful  hit  creates  an  outburst  of  merriment  which 
keeps  them  all  occupied  for  a  time  in  holding  noses  and  mouths  to 
stifle  up  the  fun. 

"  The  '  godly'  man  closes  his  prayers  with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief 
and  satisfaction,  vainly  imagining  that  he  has  performed  his  duty  to 
his  family  and  his  Creator.  For,  unfortunately,  the  children  would 
never  listen,  and  if  they  should,  they  could  not  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  his  words.  I  have  often  thought,  during  the  past  week, 
that  if  he  were  to  try  to  address  their  understanding  in  appropriate 
language,  instead  of  aiming  at  something  beyond  their  capacity  and 
his  own,  he  might  succeed  in  winning  their  attention  and  interest, 
and  in  developing  their  religious  natures,  which  would  soften  and 
improve  their  characters.  But  the  present  influence  is  the  reverse  of 
this,  it  tends  to  render  them  irreverent,  and  give  them  an  aversion  to 
religious  exercises.  The  mother  is  a  gentle,  kind-hearted  woman, 
with  too  much  labor  to  perform  for  her  own  comfort  and  health  or 
that  of  her  family.  The  dwelling-house,  and  all  about  the  premises, 
has  an  unfinished  and  unthrifty  appearance  ;  and  everything  is  done 
in  a  careless,  slip-shod  manner.  There  were  no  conveniences  for 
bathing  in  my  chamber,  and  when  I  made  my  appearance  in  the 
morning  and  inquired  for  something  in  which  to  perform  my  ablu- 
tions, an  iron  vessel,  used  for  culinary  purposes,  was  placed  in  the 
kitchen  sink  for  my  particular  accommodation.  The  family  take 
their  morning  baths  in  a  trough  at  the  open  well.  The  same  vessel 
was  afterwards  suspended  over  the  fire,  and  mush  for  breakfast  was 
cooked  in  it — the  usual  morning  meal.  It  did  not  affect  my  appe- 
tite very  favorably,  I  assure  you,  making  this  observation,  but  I  par- 
took of  the  mush  and  milk,  with  the  rest  of  the  family,  solacing  my- 
self the  while  with  the  reflection  that  '  not  that  which  entereth  into 
the  mouth  defileth  the  person.' 

"  Mrs.  Claptrap,  anxious  to  show  me  all  the  hospitality  in  her 
power,  came  while  I  was  bathing,  and  handed  me,  with  a  look  of 
gratification,  an  ancient,  yellow  looking  tooth-brush,  a  probable  heir- 
loom in  the  family  of  the  Claptraps,  which  had  been  carefully  laid 
away  in  several  wrappers,  requesting  me  to  use  it  freely,  without 
the  least  apprehension  of  injuring  it,  assuring  me  that  I  was  entirely 
welcome.     When  I  thanked  her  for  her  intended  kindness,  and  told 


My  Grandmother  s  Neighbors.  407 

her  that  I  should  not  require  it,  as  I  was  already  provided  for,  she 
buried  it  in  its  wrappers,  with  evident  disappointment,  and  laid  it 
carefully  away  for  some  future  visitor." 

"You  have  certainly  had  many  novel  experiences,  my  child,  with- 
in the  last  three  months" — the  Widow  Croley  said,  smiling  as  she 
thought  of  the  many  amusing  incidents  Sarah  Mandiville  had  related 
— "  your  term  of  teaching  has  nearly  expired ;  and  now  tell  me  if  you 
really  think  that  you  have  derived  all  the  advantages  from  teaching  and 
from  associating  with  the  parents  of  your  pupils,  that  you  anticipa- 
ted at  the  commencement  of  the  summer.  I  have  refrained  from 
making  the  inquiry  at  an  earlier  period,  because  I  thought  it  better 
to  wait  a  full  experience." 

"  I  must  acknowledge,  my  dearest  aunt,"  Sarah  Mandiville  re- 
plied, "  that  my  duties  have  been  more  laborious  than  I  had  supposed 
they  would  be,  and  that  I  have  not  been  as  much  benefited  intellec- 
tually, as  I  had  hoped ;  but  I  have  gained  that  understanding  of  the 
interior  life  of  the  people  that  I  sought ;  and  in  governing  my  school 
I  have  learned  better  the  principles  of  self-government.  Yet,  although 
I  have  not  enlarged  my  stock  of  knowledge  within  the  period,  I  have 
acquired  a  certain  control  of  that  which  I  already  possess  and  of  my 
intellectual  powers,  that  I  never  had  before,  and  that  will  render 
them  more  available  for  the  future,  in  whatever  direction  I  may  wish 
to  employ  them. 

"  If  that  be  so,  my  child,  your  term  of  teaching  has  not  been  un- 
profitable. You  say  that  you  '  have  gained  that  knowledge  of  the 
interior  life  of  the  people  that  you  sought ;'  then  you  have  learned 
the  secret  of  their  apparent  contentment  with  their  condition,  which 
you  justly  remarked  in  a  former  conversation,  '  is  not  such  as  should 
satisfy  intellectual  human  beings.'  " 

"It  is  true,  dearest  aunt.  After  conversing  with  them  freely, 
and  studying  them  closely,  I  have  arrived  at  the  painful  conclusion 
that  their  condition  is  not  one  of  contentment,  but  of  apathy.  Con- 
tentment, it  appears  to  me,  results  from  a  healthy,  active  state  of  the 
mind,  in  which  it  yields  a  philosophical  acquiescence  to  circumstances 
that  cannot  be  materially  modified ;  while  apathy  is  a  diseased  or 
torpid  state,  induced  by  the  outer  pressure  of  circumstances  upon  the 
inner  life,  before  it  has  been  sufficiently  developed  to  acquire  motive 
power  as  a  resisting  and  regulating  principle.  And  this  condition  of 
the  people,  is  the  result  of  too  little  mental  development  and  too 


408  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

much  labor,  or  pressure  upon  the  physical  organism  for  healthy  reac- 
tion. All  the  higher  powers  of  their  minds  are  latent.  They  have 
no  enthusiasm,  no  aspiration.  The  feeble  hope  that  they  entertain 
of  a  brighter  future  beyond  the  grave,  is  the  only  ripple  upon  the 
stagnant  pool  of  their  destiny — is  the  only  star  that  penetrates  the 
gloom  of  their  moral  atmosphere.  Their  age,  without  maturity,  is 
pitiful  indeed.  They  appear  to  me  like  ignorant  children,  without 
the  attractions  of  youth  and  innocence,  the  peculiar  charms  of  the 
age,  groping  in  the  dark  with  no  desire  for  light.  Poor,  blind  souls  ! 
They  awaken  in  me  something  of  the  peculiarly  painful  sensation  I 
experience  in  looking  upon  an  orang-outang,  with  its  vacant  look  of 
inquiry  and  anxiety,  as  it  turns  uneasily  from  side  to  side  without 
fixing  its  glance  upon  any  object — it  is  so  sadly,  so  deplorably 
human,  and  yet  so  entirely  animal,  that  the  resemblance  is  shocking 
to  me." 

"  Your  judgment  is  very  severe,  my  child.  But,  tell  me  ;  do  you 
still  retain  that  deep  interest  in  teaching  that  would  render  it  desir- 
able for  you  to  pursue  it  as  a  profession  under  more  favorable  circum- 
stances?" 

"  I  do,  indeed.  I  feel  a  deeper  interest  than  ever  before  in  teach- 
ing, and  greater  confidence  in  my  ability  to  succeed.  And  if  I  could 
have  a  class  of  young  girls  in  my  beloved  city  of  B — ,  I  feel  assured 
that  no  pursuit  in  which  I  could  engage  would  afford  me  the  same 
degree  of  enjoyment.  The  minds  of  city  children  are  very  unlike 
those  of  the  country — they  are  active,  observing,  and  easily  im- 
pressed ;  while  the  latter  are  torpid,  listless,  and  difficult  to  interest. 
It  may  be  accounted  for  in  the  wide  difference  of  their  surroundings. 

"  City  children  are  constantly  seeing  and  hearing  something  new  ; 
and  this  variety  in  their  daily  life,  imparts  a  livelier  tone  to  their 
minds  and  a  readier  power  to  receive  impressions  and  instruction. 
Country  children,  as  you  are  aware,  lead  a  monotonous  life.  They 
pursue  the  same  routine  of  toil — for  they  really  do  toil  in  the 
country,  and,  I  have  often  thought,  even  more  severely  than  mature 
persons,  when  their  age  and  ability  are  taken  into  account  — 
month  after  month  and  year  after  year,  until  their  intellects  become 
stultified,  and  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  arouse  them.  My  ex- 
perience, the  present  summer,  has  led  me  to  this  conclusion.  In- 
deed, I  have  often  felt  quite  discouraged.  After  trying  a  whole 
week  to  teach  a  class  of  young  ones  to  spell  y-o-u,  they  were  quite 


My  Grandmother  s  Neighbors.  409 

as  likely  to  spell  it  u-o-y  ;  and  so  of  all  my  pupils  from  the  least  to 
the  greatest.  And  their  parents  have,  generally,  appeared  more 
anxious  for  their  daughters  to  learn  to  sew,  knit,  and  embroider, 
than  to  read  and  write  correctly.  And  but  little  more  ambition  is 
felt  for  the  sons.  Reading,  writing,  and  a  smattering  of  arithmetic, 
is  all  that  they  desire  them  to  know.  Some  parents  are  willing  to 
include  geography  and  grammar  in  their  course  of  instruction. 
When  I  have  urged  upon  the  fathers  the  importance  of  a  more 
liberal  education  for  their  boys,  I  have  uniformly  been  answered  in 
the  following  manner :  '  I  never  larned  sich  things,  and  I  always 
got  along  very  wal  through  the  world  ;  and  why  should  a  boy  know 
more  than  his  father  ?  It  seems  kinder  on  natural  to  me,  it  raly 
does.' 

"  And,  in  this  manner  I  have  been  prevented  from  doing  the 
poor  children  all  the  good  in  my  power  ;  which  is  a  painful  reflec- 
tion. The  most  satisfactory  exercise  of  each  day  has  been  the 
moral  lesson." 

"  What  am  I  to  understand  by  the  '  moral  lesson,'  my  child." 
"  Simply  this,  dearest  aunt ;  each  morning  at  the  opening  of 
school  I  require  my  pupils  to  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer  simultaneous- 
ly ;  after  that  exercise  I  devote  five  or  ten  minutes  to  propounding 
questions  to  them  concerning  their  relative  duties  to  the  Heavenly 
Father,  to  themselves,  and  to  each  other.  In  other  words,  I  endeav- 
or to  teach  them  practical  Christianity — love  to  God  and  love  to  man 
— a  religion  of  deeds  rather  than  of  words.  The  topic  of  the  moral 
lesson  is  given  out  each  day,  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon  session,  in 
order  that  the  older  pupils  may  have  time  to  reflect  upon  it,  and 
prepare  themselves  to  ask  and  to  answer  questions.  One  evening 
the  topic  will  be  :  Gratitude  to  God  for  all  his  blessings.  At  another : 
Watchfulness  over  our  tempers,  that  we  may  not  be  irritable  and  un- 
kind toward  others,  and  forgiveness  of  injuries ;  and  at  another  : 
Truthfulness,  perfect  honesty  of  purpose  in  all  things.  Indeed,  all 
the  Christian  virtues  and  graces  are  topics  of  discussion.  I  have 
carefully  avoided  all  doctrinal  questions,  believing  it  to  be  of  the  first 
importance  that  children  should  be  instructed  in  practical  Christian- 
ity, should  be  taught  obedience  to  the  divine  Law  of  Love ;  once 
under  its  elevating  influence,  and  the  life  will  be  right,  and  the  fruits 
of  the  spirit — love,  joy,  peace,  long-suffering,  gentleness,  and  patience 
— will  appear  as  the  perfect  result. 


410  THE    HESPEKIAN. 

"  I  have  adopted  this  course  from  the  deep  conviction  that  the 
spirit  of  Christianity  is  of  more  importance  to  the  good  conduct  and 
happiness  of  society  than  the  letter,  because  it  acts  directly  upon  the 
character  of  the  individual,  imparting  self-reliance  through  divine 
reliance,  and  thus  the  power  to  resist  temptation.  I  have  often  ob- 
served that  those  who  were  the  greatest  advocates  of  '  enforcing  the 
doctrines'1  of  Christianity,  appeared  to  be  the  least  influenced  by  its 
principles  in  their  intercourse  with  their  fellow-beings.  In  their  de- 
votion to  the  letter  of  the  law,  they  keep  themselves  in  the  external 
or  rudimental  forms  of  religion,  and  so  fail  to  perceive  and  practise 
its  beautiful  spirit.  And  this  is  the  reason  why  many  of  the  most 
zealous  professors  of  Christianity  are  angry  disputants,  ready  to  fight 
and  destroy  their  opponents  in  order  to  advance  a  Religion  of  Love. 
'  They  have  zeal  without  knowledge' ;  a  religion  without  reason,  and 
all  they  do  to  aid  the  cause,  is  only  so  much  weight  of  influence 
thrown  into  the  opposing  scale.  It  is  very,  very  pitiful  that  the  dear 
Christ  should  be  so  little  understood  by  his  professed  disciples,  and 
should  be  thus  shamefully  crucified  afresh  in  the  house  of  his  friends. 

"  I  feel  convinced,  my  dearest  aunt,  the  more  I  observe  and 
reflect,  that,  if  we  would  have  a  consistent  christian  church  in  the 
world,  we  must  begin  with  the  children  and  infuse  the  loving  spirit 
of  Christ  into  their  very  being,  that  it  may  become  the  motive 
power  of  all  their  actions.  And  it  has  been  my  aim  to  act  from 
this  conviction." 

"  You  are  right — you  are  right,  my  child." 

"  It  would  surprise  you,  dearest  aunt,  to  observe  the  interest  the 
children  manifest  in  the  moral  lesson,  and  the  wonderful  compre- 
hension they  appear  to  have,  intuitively,  of  spiritual  subjects.  I 
am  often  startled  by  it,  while  talking  with  them  ;  for  it  fills  me 
with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  my  responsibility  as  teacher  to 
develop  all  their  latent  power  for  good,  that  it  may  become  a  strong 
moral  force  in  their  natures  for  the  resistance  of  evil,  when  they 
shall  go  abroad  in  the  world  and  take  upon  themselves  the  govern- 
ment of  their  own  actions." 

(Conclusion  next  month.) 


The  sum  of  morality  and  Christianity  is — Give  and  forgive,  bear 
and  forbear. 


THE    DESERTED    HOUSE. 


BY  MRS.  M.  D.  STRONG. 


It  stood  in  its  loneliness  far  away 

From  the  liannts  of  men  ;  and  the  sun's  bright  ray, 

And  the  silvery  moon-beam  struggling-  in, 

Through  the  ivy  that  curtained  the  lattice  dim, 

Played  with  a  strange  and  mocking  mirth, 

On  the  blackened  walls  and  the  desolate  hearth. 

Grey  was  the  roof,  and  the  night  wind  swept 
Through  the  empty  halls,  where  the  wild  fox  crept, 
And  the  rank  grass  sprang,  and  the  moss  grew  green, 
Where  the  song  and  the  dance  and  the  banquet  had  been, 
And  the  voiceful  leaves  of  the  sheltering  tree 
Where  whispering  ever  of  mystery. 

And  I  thought,  as  T  looked  on  that  ruin  old, 

Of  the  human  love  that  had  there  been  told, 

Of  the  joys  and  sorrows,  the  hopes  and  fears, 

That  had  gathered  there  with  the  flight  of  years ; 

And  I  saw  them  again,  the  faces  fair, 

That  had  smiled  'round  the  hearth-stone  so  cold  and  bare. 

There  was  laughter  light  and  the  gush  of  song  ; 

It  came  from  a  gay  and  brilliant  throng, 

And  a  hundred  lamps  in  that  drear  old  hall, 

Were  gilding  the  gloom  of  the  ruined  wall, 

And  the  dark  eyes  of  manhood,  in  glances  that  speak, 

Were  deepening  the  blushes  on  beauty's  cheek. 

Anon  there  was  silence,  the  hush  of  prayer, 

And  tAvo  stood  forth  from  the  throngers  there, 

And  vows  were  spoken  and  sealed  above, 

The  holy  vows  of  a  deathless  love  ; 

So  'mid  blessings  and  prayers,  'mid  gladness  and  tears, 

They  plighted  the  faith  of  their  coming  years. 

That  vision  passed — and  I  listened  again  ; 
There  was  music  sweeter  and  holier  then, 


412  THE    HESPERIAN. 

The  mirthful  echoes  of  tiny  feet, 

And  childish  laughter  and  accents  sweet, 

And  words  with  that  ringing  glee  in  their  tone, 

That  comes  in  life's  May-morning  alone. 

Once  more  :  The  voices  that  round  me  float, 
Have  the  mournful  swell  of  a  funeral  note  ; 
The  merry  tone  and  the  laugh  have  fled — 
They  are  chanting  the  requiem  over  the  dead  ! 
Then  the  shadows  passed,  like  the  sweep  of  a  pall, 
And  nothing  was  there  save  the  bare  old  wall. 

So  it  stands  in  its  loneliness,  old  and  grey, 
Silent  and  dark  by  the  grass-grown  way  ; 
And  I  know  there  are  lives  as  cold  and  bare, 
Where  hopes  are  dead  that  were  young  and  fair, 
Where  only  the  haunting  shadows  dwell 
Of  the  living  forms  that  were  loved  so  well. 


MRS.    GRISCOM'S    LEGACY. 


[Concluded  from  page  374.] 


Gertrude  made  several  incursions  into  the  room  for  the  purpose 
of  discovering  any  secret  passage  or  entrance  thereto  ;  but  she  found 
no  clue  to  the  mystery.  Meanwhile  the  winter  passed,  and  with  the 
spring  came  a  great  change  in  Gertrude's  affairs.  The  death  of  a 
distant,  almost  forgotten  uncle,  left  her  sole  inheritor  of  a  great  estate, 
and  Gertrude  Congreve  found  herself  again  an  heiress,  ere  she  had 
scarcely  tasted  the  pleasure  of  working  for  her  own  support. 

Not  long  after  this  change  in  her  fortune,  she  received  a  letter 
from  Colonel  Thorn,  announcing  his  return  home ;  telling  her  how  rest- 
less and  unhappy  he  had  been  away  from  her  ;  that  his  affections  were 
unchanged,  and  assuming  to  be  wholly  unconscious  of  any  alteration 
in  her  affairs — had  written  her  before,  but  could  obtain  no  answer — 
that  he  was  entirely  unfamiliar  with  her  movements,  as  he  never 
heard  from  home,  etc. 


Mrs.  Griscoms  Legacy.  413 

This  letter  revived  Gertrude's  dying  love.  She  tried  to  reason 
with  herself.  She  repeated  that  he  was  base  ;  that  he  had  deserted  her 
in  her  moment  of  trial,  but  yet  she  found  herself  happy  in  the  thought 
that  she  was  about  to  behold  him  again,  and  she  resolutely  shut  out 
the  thought  that  he  had  possibly  heard  of  her  good  fortune,  and  hence 
the  letter. 

"  He  is  an  unprincipled  man,  Gertrude ;"  said  Mary  Flemming, 
"  and  I  am  confident  he  has  heard  through  his  friends  of  the  bequest 
that  has  been  left  to  you,  and  has  not  hesitated  to  avail  himself  of 
the  information  to  impose  upon  your  generous  nature,  and  reinstate 
himself  in  your  favor.  If  he  had  written  before,  as  he  asserts,  you 
certainly  would  have  received  that  letter,  as  well  as  this  one.  Do 
not,  I  entreat  you,  permit  him  to  blindfold  you  in  this  matter." 

Gertrude  had  experienced  all  that  silent  torture  which  a  proud, 
impassioned  nature  suffers,  when  it  finds  its  wealth  of  affection  sud- 
denly turned  back  upon  itself.  Craving  the  love  of  a  warm  and  loyal 
heart  in  her  almost  widowed  condition,  she  had  permitted  herself  to 
become  interested  in  Gerard  Knightly,  and  had  often  found  herself 
recurring  to  his  delicate  acts  of  kindness,  and  his  manly  forbearance 
toward  herself.  She  could  not  disabuse  her  mind  of  a  fancy  which 
possessed  it,  that  to  him  she  was  indebted  for  the  cheerful,  handsome 
chambers  which  had  superseded  the  bare  western  rooms.  She  re- 
proved herself  at  those  times  for  the  pain  she  had  wilfully  caused 
him.  Her  manner  towards  him  had  lately  partaken  the  color  of  these 
warmer  sentiments,  and  kindled  a  faint  hope  in  the  heart  of  the  young 
clergyman,  that  at  some  distant  day  she  might  recognize  him  as  her 
accepted  lover. 

But  the  reception  of  the  Colonel's  letter  changed  the  aspect  of 
affairs  materially.  She  censured  herself  for  having  for  a  moment 
looked  with  favor  upon  his  rival.  He,  and  he  alone,  so  handsome 
and  agreeable,  so  chivalrous  and  proud,  was  fitted  to  mate  with  Ger- 
trude Congreve. 

Yet  Mary  Flemming's  fears  of  the  Colonel,  and  her  expostulations 
with  Gertrude  to  banish  him  from  her  mind,  were  not  entirely  with- 
out effect. 

One  evening,  after  reflecting  more  than  usual  upon  the  subject, 
(having  received  during  the  day  another  letter  from  the  Colonel, 
stating  that  he  would  be  home  within  a  fortnight,)  Gertrude  laid  her 
head,  weary  with  thinking,  upon  her  pillow,  and  soon  fell  asleep, 


414  THE    HESPERIAN. 

Presently  she  thought  her  aunt  entered  the  room,  and  gliding  up  to 
her  bedside,  with  entreating  words  besought  her  not  to  unite  herself 
with  that  wicked,  unprincipled  man. 

She  dreamed  that  she  arose,  and  accompanied  by  her  aunt,  entered 
the  west  wing.  The  rooms  were  bare  and  desolate,  as  in  former  days. 
They  descended  into  the  lower  apartments ;  a  crucifix  hung  against 
the  gloomy  wall ;  to  this  her  aunt  pointed  solemnly,  saying,  "Remem- 
ber Amie  Hunt — search  for  her  there!"  and  disappeared  as  suddenly 
as  she  had  come. 

This  dream  made  a  terrible  impression  upon  Gertrude's  mind. 
The  next  day  she  determined  to  renew  again  the  search  for  traces  of 
a  secret  passage  ;  with  the  thoughtfulness  and  self-possession  which 
always  characterized  her  actions,  she  secretly  provided  herself  with 
some  tools  and  a  lantern  ;  then  informing  Mary  and  the  servants  that 
she  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed  during  the  afternoon,  she  repaired  to 
the  west  wing.  She  passed  through  the  gay  suite  of  apartments  on  the 
main  floor,  and  descended  the  dark  flight  of  stairs.  The  rooms  on 
the  lower  floor  were  mere  cells,  empty  and  cold;  she  had  in  her  pre- 
vious search  inspected  them  all,  as  she  had  supposed  ;  but  the  one 
to  which  her  aunt  had  led  her  in  the  dream,  was  new  to  her.  Neither 
of  the  four  cells  answered  the  description,  there  must  be  another — 
and  another  indeed,  she  soon  found.  The  light  from  her  lantern  fell 
upon  the  seams  of  a  door  concealed  under  a  stairway,  which  had  here- 
tofore escaped  her  notice.  The  ponderous  door  opened  with  a  heavy 
swino-  to  her  effort,  and  she  entered. 

It  was  a  chill  sepulchral  looking  room,  lighted  by  several  port 
holes,  placed  near  the  ceiling  ;  the  ground  was  flagged  with  stone,  and 
the  place  was  furnished  with  a  table  and  stool,  whose  workmanship 
was  of  ancient  date.  A  heavy  crucifix  occupied  a  niche  in  an  open 
recess,  draped  around  by  the  thick  folds  of  a  black,  moth-eaten  cur- 
tain. The  hand  which  had  remodeled  the  upper  rooms,  had  left  this 
untouched.  A  ghastly  picture  of  Christ  on  the  cross,  with  the  red 
blood  running  in  streams  from  his  wounds,  hung,  as  it  had  hung  for 
many  a  silent  year.  The  damp,  unwholesome  atmosphere,  which  time 
and  the  place  had  generated,  had  settled  upon  the  picture  with  a  pale 
green  moisture,  like  a  death  dew,  and  seemed  to  animate  the  painted 
Christ,  with  a  spectral,  ghastly  life.  Tradition  said  the  rightful  lord 
of  the  manor  had  been  a  staunch  Catholic  in  his  day,  and  this  room 
at  least,  was  still  faithful  to  the  religion  of  its  founder. 


Mrs.  Griscoms  Legacy.  415 

Here  Gertrude  made  strict  search  for  the  hidden  secret ;  she  ex- 
amined the  paved  floor  for  trap-doors  ;  she  scrutinized  the  bare  walls 
— surveyed  the  round  windows,  too  small,  and  too  far  removed,  to  be 
useful  in  concealing  anything.  She  even  lifted  and  shook  the  old, 
black,  bworm-shredded  drapery,  but  nothing  rewarded  her  search  ; 
one  more  look  under  the  table,  and  then  she  must  give  it  up  !  As  she 
stooped  to  examine,  a  small  diamond  pin  which  fastened  a  knot  at  her 
bosom,  became  loosened,  and  rolled  to  the  ground.  Supposing  it  near 
at  hand,  she  commenced  carelessly  to  look  for  it,  but  it  was  not  to  be 
found  ;  becoming  really  frightened  (for  it  was  her  aunt's  gift,  and  she 
valued  it  highly)  she  lit  her  lantern  that  she  might  more  closely  in- 
spect the  dark  corners  of  the  room  ;  for  some  minutes  she  continued 
her  explorations  without  success. 

At  length  behind  the  black  drapery  in  a  dusty  corner,  she  beheld 
its  glistening  shape.  Eagerly  attempting  to  regain  it,  she  met  with 
a  slight  resistance,  it  seeming  to  have  been  caught  in  some  aperture. 
Looking  closely  with  her  lantern,  she  thought  she  perceived  a  crev- 
ice. The  idea  flashed  upon  her  mind,  like  lightning,  that  possibly 
this  recess  might  prove  to  be  a  door.  Possessed  with  this  thought 
she  mounted  a  chair,  and  attempted  by  prying  with  one  of  the  tools 
with  which  she  had  furnished  herself,  to  discern  some  opening.  In 
her  efforts  she  grasped  the  cross,  and  as  she  did  so  a  quick  report  was 
heard,  and  lo  !  the  concave  surface  sunk  slowly  in  on  its  iron  hinges, 
revealing  a  dark  interior.  Gertrude  dismounted  and  approached  the 
portal ;  and  as  she  did  so,  the  rays  of  light  from  her  lantern  fell  upon  a 
broad  flighJ:  of  stone  steps,  descending  within  a  foot  of  the  landing. 
Gathering  her  skirts  about  her  and  providing  herself  with  a  knife  and 
her  little  basket  of  tools — for  Gertrude  was  a  brave  woman — she  de- 
scended with  a  firm  but  careful  step,  the  flight  of  stairs.  Arrived  at 
the  bottom,  she  was  met  by  an  arched  passage  ;  traces  of  a  door 
which  had  once  hung  before  it  remained.  Passing  through  this  arched 
entrance,  her  eyes  were  dazzled  by  the  grand  prospect  thrown  open 
to  her  view.  The  light  streaming  from  her  lantern  fell  upon  pillars 
and  arches,  alcoves  and  fantastic  spirals,  embossed  and  chased,  frosted 
and  fretted  with  a  rich,  wild  wealth  of  design,  arabesque  and  grotesque 
as  nature's  studio  only  could  supply.  Spars  and  splinters  and  twisted 
columns,  dropped  from  the  roof  of  this  cave,  as  Gertrude  rightly  con- 
jectured it  to  be,  and, as  she  walked,  the  light  she  carried  reflecting 
upon  the  mineral  encrustations,  caused  them  to  sparkle  with  weird 

3 


416  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

luster  in  colors  of  blue,  white,  crimson,  violet,  yellow  and  green,  like 
tropic  flowers,  or  jewels  of  genii  creation. 

Gertrude  wound  her  way  among  the  glittering  columns,  following 
a  path  which  seemed  to  have  been  often  trod  and  artificially  widened. 
The  place  seemed  interminably  vast  to  her,  owing  in  part  to  the 
dimness  of  her  lantern,  leaving  all  but  the  locality  immediately  around 
her  in  shade. 

A  peculiarly  festooned,  and  sparry  grotto  terminated  the  path. 
Upon  entering  this,  she  was  startled  by  perceiving  directly  in  the 
center,  a  rude  table  formed  of  a  flat  stone  resting  upon  two  others, 
with  a  skull  and  cross-bones  carved  upon  its  face.  Upon  this  curious 
table  a  book  of  Common  Prayer  lay  with  its  pages  open,  as  if  they 
had  been  lately  turned  in  reading.  Excited,  Gertrude  certainly  was, 
if  not  terrified  by  the  discoveries  she  was  making,  but  the  remem- 
brance of  her  aunt's  apparition  haunted  and  nerved  her  to  accomplish 
her  undertaking.  Looking  around  for  further  denoumenta,  she  per- 
ceived what  appeared  to  be  a  vault  in  one  corner  of  the  grotto.  A 
heavy  stone  stood  before  it,  bearing  this  inscription : 

"  The  remains  of  A.  H.,  found  in  this  place,  November,  17 — ,are 
here  interred." 

A  cold  sweat  stood  on  Gertrude's  brow.     She  shivered  drearily. 

Just  then  a  voice  behind  her  exclaimed,  "Miss  Congreve  !  Is  it 
— can  it  be  that  you  have  found  this  spot !  Oh,  I  regret  your  com- 
ing hither  !" 

Gertrude  was  so  absorbed  in  the  wretched  history  which  was 
being  so  mysteriously  revealed  to  her,  that  she  was  scarcely  startled 
by  the  voice  of  Mr.  Knightly.  That  he  held  the  solution  to  this 
strange  mystery,  was  her  chief  thought.  By  what  means  he  broke 
so  suddenly  upon  her  seclusion,  she  did  not  stop  to  consider. 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  calm,  self-possessed  mien,  which,  in  its 
almost  rigid  suppression  of  feeling,  was  pitiful  to  witness. 

"  Mr.  Knightly,"  said  she,  extending  her  hand.  "  It  is  I,  Ger- 
trude Congreve.  I  do  not  regret  being  here — why  should  you  regret 
it  for  me  ?" — then  pointing  to  the  slab,  she  asked,  "  Who  sleeps  be- 
neath that  stone  ?  Tell  me,"  said  she  decisively,  "  for  whose  name 
do  those  initials  stand  ?" 

"  It  is  merely  a  memorial,  Miss  Congreve  ;—you  are  alarmed," 
.said  he,  evasively,   "  the  place  seems  so  dismal  to  your  fine  nature." 


M?'s.   Griscoms  Legacy.  417 

"  Mr.  Knightly,  I  am  not  to  be  put  off  in  that  way,  I  am  no  child  : 
I  must  be  told  this  tale,  horrible  and  ghastly  though  it  be.  I  have 
a  presentiment  that  my  whole  future  happiness  depends  upon  know- 
ing who  lies  buried  in  that  dismal  vault." 

"  Do  not  urge  me ;  I  consider  it  a  point  of  honor  to  retain  this 
secret,"  replied  Mr.  Knightly.  "  Ask  my  life  of  me,  Miss  Congreve, 
and  I  will  lay  it  down  willingly  for  your  sake — but  this  secret  which 
I  have  become  possessed  of,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  guard,  until  I  can 
place  it  in  the  keeping  of  its  rightful  owner." 

"But,"  said  Gertrude,  blushing  deeply,  "if  it  concerns  Colonel 
Thorn,  I  must  be  informed.     When  he  returns,  it  may  be  too  late." 

"  Returns !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Knightly,  betraying  his  agitation  at 
the  thought,  "  Miss  Congreve — Gertrude — will  you — are  you — are 
you  still — "  he  hesitated  what  form  of  expression  to  employ.  "Do 
not,  oh,  do  not  trust  your  happiness  to  his  keeping  !"  said  he,  in  his 
excitement  grasping  her  hand. 

Gertrude  withdrew  it  quietly;  the  color  vanished  from  her  face. 
Steadying  her  trembling  limbs  against  the  table,  she  raised  her  eyes, 
lit  by  a  fire  of  purpose  so  immovable,  that  Mr.  Knightly  cared  not  to 
encounter  the  glance. 

She  spoke  not  in  her  usual  sympathetic,  musical  voice,  but  in  a 
harsh,  though  low  tone. 

'  Mr.  Knightly,  you  have  always  professed  to  feel  an  interest  in 
my  welfare.  You  know  of  my  attachment  to  Colonel  Thorn.  A 
young  girl  bearing  those  initials  yonder,  to  her  name,  disappeared 
from  her  father's  house.  You  are  acquainted  with  that  history.  If 
you  possess  any  information  proving  Colonel  Thorn  to  have  been  a 
heartless,  as  well  as  profligate  youth,  I  must  know  it ;  otherwise,  in 
a  fortnight  I  become  his  wife." 

"  Oh,  my  friend  Gertrude,  what  would  you  move  me  to  do !" 
cried  Mr.  Knightly,  torn  with  anguish.  "  Shall  I  meanly  betray  my 
fellow?  Shall  I  reveal  what  for  twenty  years  God  himself  has  kept 
hidden  ?" 

"  I  appreciate  your  sentiments,  Mr.  Knightly.  I  know,"  said  she, 
blushing,  "  that  you  would  not  wish  to  obtain  my  favor  by  traducing 
another ;  but  I  have  one  more  argument  to  urge.  My  aunt  was 
your  steadfast  friend  ;  to  her  you  are  indebted  for  many  kindnesses 
— it  was  she  who  guided  me  hither."  And  Gertrude,  seating  herself 
before  the  table,  impressively  related  her  dream. 


418  THE    HESPERIAN. 

"  It  is  her  spirit"  she  said,  when  the  recital  was  concluded,  "that 
is  making  this  demand  of  yon.     Refuse  her  no  longer." 

Her  companion  had  been  leaning  with  his  head  buried  in  his 
hands,  in  deep  thought. 

"  Miss  Congreve,"  said  he,  "  I  submit.  I  need  not  bind  you  to 
keep  secret  what  I  shall  reveal  to  you — your  own  heart  will  suggest 
that.  You  will  recollect  that  your  aunt  devised  to  me  the  building 
of  the  chapel  near  her  grave,  the  location  having  been  pointed  out 
in  a  dream.  It  was  while  superintending  this  work,  that  I  discov- 
ered the  entrance  to  this  cave,  which  had  been  completely  filled  up 
by  the  falling  in  of  the  earth  and  rubbish  above  it.  It  was  formerly 
connected  by  underground  passages  with  the  Abbey,  and  the  legend 
of  the  white  nun  of  the  manor,  had  likely  some  good  foundation. 

"I  kept  my  discovery  a  secret  from  all  but  my  old  trusty  servant, 
whom  I  was  obliged  to  hold  counsel  with.  In  the  grotto,  in  the  cor- 
ner which  has  attracted  your  attention,  I  found  a  skeleton,  composed 
as  if  in  sleep,  the  head  resting  upon  a  heap  of  dust,  which  had  once, 
no  doubt,  been  her  raiment ;  the  hair  seemed  perfect  as  in  life,  fall- 
ing in  silken  ripples  over  the  fleshless  shoulders,  but  it  crumbled  into 
dust  as  I  raised  the  form,  and  vanished.  A  trinket  I  took  from  the 
neck  I  have  preserved.  Shall  I  show  it  to  you — have  you  the  cour- 
age to  look  at  it?"     Gertrude  answered  simply,  "I  have." 

Mr.  Knightly  arose,  and  putting  his  hand  upon  a  ledge  projecting 
above  the  vault,  drew  down  a  small  metal  box.  "  I  have  placed  it 
in  here  for  safe  keeping,"  said  he,  "I  felt  compelled  to  do  so,  other- 
wise I  should  have  buried  it  with  her." 

He  opened  the  box,  and  drew  out  a  small  miniature. 

Gertrude  recognized  a  youthful  likeness  of  Colonel  Thorn,  twenty 
years  younger ;  but  the  same  proud,  presumptuous,  handsome  face, 
whose  magnetic  influence  had  long  enthralled  her  heart  so  strangely. 
Upon  the  golden  lid  she  read,  "  Amie  Hunt :  the  gift  of  Richard 
Thorn."  The  trinket  dropped  from  the  grasp  of  the  unhappy  Ger- 
trude ;  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"I  cannot — I  cannot  bear  it!"  she  murmured  ;  the  long  checked 
excitement  broke  forth,  and  in  an  agony  of  sobs  and  convulsive  grief, 
she  hid  her  face  upon  the  table.     Mr.  Knightly,  alarmed,  entreated 
her  to  be  calm. 
-    "  0,  Miss  Congreve,  that  I  could  bear  this  for  you  !*'  he  exclaimed 


Mrs.   Griscoms  Legacy.  419 

in  agony.     "I  know  that  my  love  is  nothing  to  you — but  yet  let  the 
thought  that  you  are  so  intensely  beloved,  bring  comfort." 

"Ah — "  said  Gertrude,  shuddering,  "  to  have  loved  a  murderer  !" 
"  You  look  at  it  in  too  harsh  a  light,  Miss  Congreve — let  me  plead 
for  Colonel  Thorn.  Consider  his  youth,  his  temptation.  As  to  this 
death,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  had  a  hand  in  it.  He  could  not  have 
known  of  the  secret  passage,  or  he  would  certainly  have  removed 
all  traces  of  her  unhappy  end  long  since.  It  is  probable  that  she, 
rinding  herself  shut  up  by  the  old  woman,  and  her  hunger  increasing  , 
in  her  endeavors  to  escape,  discovered  the  door  in  the  recess,  as  you 
have  done.  Probably,  then,  she  gathered  up  her  apparel,  provided 
herself  with  a  candle,  (for  I  found  a  mouldy  and  rust  eaten  candle- 
stick upon  the  table  here),  and  set  forth.  The  door  behind  the 
black  curtain  closed  with  a  spring — and  she  was  shut  in  beyond 
remedy.  Fatigued  by  her  wandering,  and  faint  with  hunger,  I  sup- 
pose she  lay  down  in  the  corner  and  slept  her  life  away  easity 
enough." 

"  Your  supposition  as  to  her  fate  cannot  extenuate  his  crime, 
sir,"  said  Gertrude.  "  He  deserted  her  when  she  had  confided  to 
him  her  life,  her  love.  To  screen  himself,  he  confined  her  as  closely 
as  in  prison,  and  confided  her  to  the  care  of  a  pitiless  old  woman, 
who  left  her  to  starve  to  death.  Merciful  God  !  to  think  of  her 
helpless  efforts  for  release !  How  she  screamed,  and  shook  the  door 
in  vain — no  egress  through  the  windows — no  help  in  any   quarter  !" 

"  I  beg  of  you,  Miss  Congreve,  not  to  distress  yourself  with  the 
harrowing  thought.  Come  you  must  leave  this  place,  or  it  will  kill 
you  ; "  and  he  led  her  out  through  the  door  which  opened  into  the 
cellar  of  the  chapel,  and  thence  out  into  the  daylight. 

A  fortnight  after  this  event,  Colonel  Thorn  returned  ;  Gertrude 
was  not  at  home  when  he  called  ;  he  learned  that  she  was  in  the 
chapel.  It  was  a  bright  moonlight  night,  and  she  had  gone  thither 
to  commune  alone,  directing  Mary  Flemming  and  the  servant  to 
come  for  her  in  half  an  hour,  to  accompany  her  home.  In  the  little 
room  called  "  Gertrude's  Chamber,"  Colonel  Thorn  found  her. 
What  passed  between  them  may  not  be  told,  but  he  left,  vowing 
vengeance  upon  Gerard  Knightly. 

Passing  recklessly  along,  bewildered  and  intoxicated  with  anger, 
he  saw  a  form  approaching  through  a  by  path.  He  rcognized  the 
hight  and  figure  of  Mr.  Knightly.      Drawing  his  sword,  he  rushed 


420  THE    HESPERIAN. 

at  the  defenceless  man,  and  exclaiming  :  "  Hypocrite  !  you,  at  least, 
shall  not  obtain  her,"  made  a  lunge  at  his  rival.  Mr.  Knightly, 
alert  and  agile  as  he  was,  sprang  aside  and  parried  the  blow,  receiv- 
ing a  severe  wound  in  the  shoulder,  and  at  the  same  time  his  feet 
tripping  in  the  grass,  from  his  efforts  to  ward  off  the  attack,  he  fell 
to  the  ground.  Gertrude  hearing  the  noise,  flung  open  her  window ; 
and  Colonel  Thorn  seeing  his  enemy  fall,  and  supposing  a  rescue  ap- 
proaching, dashed  into  a  copse  near  by,  and  disappeared.  Gertrude's 
first  impulse  was  to  leap  from  the  window,  but  failing  in  this,  she 
hastened  to  the  scene  of  disaster,  by  the  usual  method  of  egress. 
Mr.  Knightly  had  attempted  to  rise,  but  faint  from  the  loss  of  blood, 
and  fearing  to  increase  the  flow,  which  he  had  partially  stopped  by 
his  handkerchief,  he  lay  still  upon  the  ground  where  he  had  fallen, 
awaiting  help,  which  he  knew  must  be  nigh,  for  he  too,  had  heard 
the  opening  of  Gertrude's  casement. 

Seeing  him  lie  there,  stricken  dead,  as  she  thought,  felled  by  the 
hand  of  the  man  whom  she  had  once  loved,  all  the  tender  symprthy 
of  Gertrude's  nature  was  called  forth,  she  knelt  by  his  side,  and  at- 
tempted to  raise  his  head.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  smiled  upon 
her  faintly.  Seeing  him  close  them  again,  she  cried,  "  0,  speak  to 
me,  Mr.  Knightly,  speak  to  me  !  You  must  not  die  !  That  I  can- 
not bear  with  my  other  misery."  "  Gertrude,"  said  he,  feebly, 
"  you  must  get  me  some  help  ;  I  cannot  tell  how  mortal  my  injuries 
may  be."  Seeing  her  rising  to  obey  his  injunction,  he  said,  "  God 
only  knows  whether  I  will  live  till  you  return  ;  say  good  bye,  Ger- 
trude— I  have  loved  you  well  and  faithfully.  Let  me  touch  my  lips 
to  your  dear  hand  before  we  part,  perhaps  forever." 

"  0,  Mr.  Knightly,  do  not  talk  thus  !  I  do  love  you,"  said  she, 
"  you  shall  not,  must  not  die  !  God  has  taken  friends  and  lovers 
from  me — you  He  must  spare.  Here  they  come  ;  Mary  and  Thomas. 
Thank  God  !     Thank  God  !  you  are  saved  !  " 

He  was  saved,  and  the  heiress  of  Denwood  Manor  became,  be- 
fore another  year,  the  honored  mistress  of  Holywell  parsonage. 


The  best  rule  of  etiquette  which  we  ever  read  is  this :  "  All  things 
whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to 
.them." 


THE     POPPY. 


Wrom  the    German  of  TJhland. 


BY  REV.  J.  D.  STRONG. 


See,  swayed  by  western  breezes, 

The  poppy  blossom  gleams  i 
The  flower  whose  wreath  best  pleases 

The  sleepy  god  of  dreams ; 
Now  purple  hued  as  glimmers 

The  glowing  evening  sky, 
Then  pale  and  white  as  shimmers 

The  moon-light  sleeping  by. 

I've  heard  it  said  for  warning, 

That  who  Tmid  poppies  sleep, 
Are  borne  far  down  ere  morning, 

To  dream-land  dark  and  deep ; 
And  when  the  sleepers  waken, 

Their  life  but  fancy  seems ; 
The  near  and  loved  are  taken 

For  shadows  and  for  dreams. 

I  once  lay,  in  youth's  morning, 

'Mid  poppies  in  a  dell, 
Regardless  of  the  warning, 

And  felt  their  dreamy  spell ; 
1  breathed  their  sleepy  mixture, 

Till,  true  it  scarcely  seems, 
My  life  was  but  a  picture, 

The  real  only  dreams. 

Since  then  the  strange  illusion 

Is  mixed  with  all  I  view ; 
The  living  world  's  a  vision, 

My  dreams  alone  are  true. 
The  shades  I  see  around  me, 

Like  brilliant  stars  appear ; 
Oh,  sweetest  flower  of  poesy, 

Breathe  ever  on  me  here  ! 


MAKE  HOME  PLEASANT  FOE  LITTLE  BOYS. 


[A  much  revered  friend,  whose  views  are  entitled  to  consideration  by 
years  of  experience,  sends  us  the  following  "  morceau"  for  the  Hes- 
perian. We  are  pleased  to  gratify  her  request,  and  it  may  prove  a 
timely  hint  to  some  unthinking  mother  or  sister.  Our  observation, 
however,  inclines  us  to  the  conclusion  that  the  case  described  is  an 
isolated  one,  as  the  aspect  of  matters  and  things  in  families  generally, 
is  quite  the  reverse. — E.  T.  S.] 

Make  Home  Pleasant  for  Little  Boys. — Much  has  been  said 
about  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  women,  and  volumes  of  complaints 
have  been  uttered  against  men  for  the  unjust  and  selfish  laws  they 
have  made  ;  but  as  ,ong  as  boys  are  subjected  to  tyranny,  injustice, 
and  oppression  at  home,  so  long  will  the  inequality  of  the  rights  and 
privileges  of  men  and  women  be  felt.  It  is  natural  for  man  to  wish 
to  be  avenged  of  his  adversary,  and  in  this  case  custom  has  placed 
the  means  of  avenging  himself  in  his  own  hands.  I  Lave  one  boy  in 
my  mind  now,  and  there  are  hundreds  treated  like  him,  who 
never  sees  a  moment's  happiness  at  home,  and  fairly  dreads  the  hour 
of  meal-time,  because  of  the  scolding,  and  frettings,  and  fault-findings, 
that  always  greet  him  when  he  enters  the  house.  His  sisters  call 
him  an  awkward,  ugly  boy ;  make  cruel  sport  of  him  by  mimicking 
his  ways,  laughing  at  his  untidy  clothes,  his  smutty  hands  and  face ; 
and  his  mother  calls  him  a  vagabond,  a  scapegrace;  and  tells  him  in 
almost  every  other  breath,  that  he  is  killing  her  and  his  father — 
fairly  breaking  their  hearts  with  his  undutiful  behavior !  He  has 
heard  this  over  and  over  so  many  times  that  he  has  almost  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  is  the  wickedest  boy  alive ;  he  hates  himself. 
He  told  me  one  day  that  he  did  not  see  how  men  could  ever  want  to 
be  boys  again,  and  wished  he  could  "grow  up  to  be  a  man  in  one 
day,  so  that  he  could  go  where  he  liked,  and  get  out  of  the  way  of 
these  women  folks." 

When  this  boy  does  grow  to  manhood,  what  inducement  will  he 
have  to  yield  any  rights  that  he  can  command  to  woman?  What 
chords  in  his  bosom  will  ever  vibrate  with  tender  memories  at  the 
name  of  Mother  ?  Or  what  recollections  of  a  sister's  love  will  ever 
prompt  him  to  sacrifice  self-interest  for  woman's  sake  ? 

Mothers  and  sisters — if  you  would  have  men  generous,  noble- 
hearted,  waiting  to  grant  all  the  privileges  your  womanhood  has  a 
a  right  to  ask,  teach  them  first  to  love  you  while  they  are  little  boys  ; 
contribute  to  their  happiness  then,  protect  their  rights,  show  your- 
selves worthy  of  their  respect,  and  if  ever  you  have  occasion  to  ask  their 
protection,  you  will  not  ask  it  in  vain. 


PERSONAL   HAPPINESS  PROMOTED  BY  SOUL-CULTURE. 


BY   JAMES    A.    DALY. 


It  is  a  matter  of  common  observation  and  painful  experience  that 
the  proper  exercise  of  the  mental  and  moral  faculties  is  attended  with 
constant  difficulty  and  restraint.  These  have  reference  to  something 
distant.  In  their  infancy,  they  reach  out  with  apparently  ineffectual 
pleadings  toward  the  vastness  and  the  emptiness  of  the  unknown. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  faculties  of  our  nature  which  find  their  em- 
ployment and  their  reward  in  present  results,  are  strongly  incited  to 
gain  the  ascendancy.  To  the  majority  of  men,  life  presents  the  stern 
aspect  of  an  unrelenting  task-master.  It  yields  nothing  on  trust. 
It  demands  pay  in  advance  for  the  commonest  wants — pay  in  labor, 
in  thought,  in  contrivance — before  giving  even  physical  support. 
Hence,  to  the  superficial  observer,  Mind  seems  a  stranger  here.  It 
may,  indeed,  show  in  its  features  traces  of  a  kingly  origin  and  gleam- 
ings  of  a  noble  birthright,  but  it  is  practically  dethroned  by  the 
clamors  and  cravings  of  lower  wants,  and  seeks  refuge,  in  its  exile, 
amid  strange  scenes,  and  among  men  who  reverence  not  its  native 
royalty.  Its  distant  throne  stands  empty,  and  through  all  discour- 
agements, it  struggles  to  gain  its  regal  seat. 

In  things  which  pertain  to  the  physical  nature,  men  understand 
very  well  the  happiness  which  culture  promotes.  A  cultivation  of 
the  muscular  system  brings  increase  of  power,  health,  physical  hap- 
piness. A  cultivation  of  the  earth  affords  the  negative  happiness  of 
occupation,  and  the  more  positive  enjoyment  of  reaping  the  rewards 
of  labor  in  the  fruits  wThich  are  produced.  Here  men  work  in  ac- 
cordance with  laws  which  are  well  ascertained,  and  which  move  in 
narrower  circles  than  those  which  govern  mental  development.  The 
gymnast  soon  perceives  the  beneficial  results  of  his  practice.  At 
brief  intervals,  the  changing  seasons,  with  their  never  faltering  min- 
istry, reward  the  husbandman  with  the  ripened  results  of  the  germs 
which  he  committed  to  their  care.  The  same  stand-point  and  the 
same  range  of  vision  will  not  give  an  accurate  view  of  the  results  of 
mental  culture.  Its  accretions  of  power  are  slow.  Its  germs  are 
committed  to  the  care  of  seasons  which  make,  perchance,  no  annual 


424  THE    HESPERIAN. 

visit,  bearing  harvests  with  them.  He  who  enters  earnestly  and  in- 
telligently upon  the  work  of  a  broad  and  harmonious  culture,  delves 
deep  and  long  for  the  foundations  of  his  edifice.  He  needs  a  broad 
and  firm  base  for  a  superstructure  which  is  to  survive,  not  only 
time,  but  eternity  ;  which  is  to  shelter  not  only  a  family,  but,  it  may 
be,  the  human  race,  beneath  its  lofty  and  spacious  dome ! 

To  most  minds,  things  that  are  distant  lose  their  value  and  im- 
portance in  proportion  to  their  distance,  just  as  the  gravity  of  a  body 
is  diminished  by  distance  from  the  centre  of  the  earth.  The  cultiva- 
tion of  the  higher  faculties  aims  at  objects  and  results  very  different 
from  those  of  the  lower,  and  located  at  an  immense  distance  from  the 
centre  of  gravity  common  to  most  minds.  Business  shrewdness,  for 
instance,  brings  immediate  rewards  in  the  shape  of  increasing  gains, 
while  all  those  delicate  susceptibilities  for  the  comprehension  and  as- 
similation of  truth,  which  are  the  choicest  results  of  cultivation,  find 
their  proper  rewards  at  a  comparatively  remote  period. 

Judging  of  cultivation  by  the  false  standards  which  ignorance  of 
its  mode  and  scope  of  operations  sets  up,  the  opinion  has  been  hastily 
adopted  that  personal  happiness  is  incompatible  with  the  cultivation 
of  the  finer  faculties.  Life,  it  is  urged,  is  practical.  Men  ought  not, 
as  a  general  rule,  to  deal  in  those  remote  things  which  find  no  proper 
representatives  in  our  every-day  currency.  Thus,  life,  with  its  en- 
terprise and  appliances,  is  regarded  as  an  end,,  and  not  as  a  means  of 
reaching  some  higher  and  purer  seat  of  pleasure  or  of  power !  Others 
there  are  who,  while  admitting  the  grand  results  which  accrue  to  the 
mass  of  men  from  the  cultivation  of  a  devoted  few,  yet  affirm  that 
these  general  benefits  are  purchased  at  the  expense  of  individual  hap- 
piness. Just  as  the  sentinel  goes  out  in  advance  of  the  main  army 
to  guard  a  lonely  watch-post,  so  these  men  who  devote  themselves 
to  high  culture,  go  forth  in  advance  of  the  human  host  which  lies 
entrenched  within  the  limits  of  the  known  and  the  settled,  alone  and 
unprotected,  to  brave  the  perplexities  of  the  unknown,  and  the  labor 
and  watchfulness  of  a  sentinel  who  eagerly  watches  for  the  faintest 
indications  of  danger  or  advantage.  The  conclusion  is  adopted  that 
the  duty  of  a  sentinel  must  be  a  source  of  unhappiness,  because  it  is 
arduous  and  dangerous.  True,  the  foremost  rank  in  victory  or  defeat 
is  theirs ;  but  before  pronouncing  them  unhappy,  I  would  prefer  to 
inquire  what  noble  sentiment  warms  the  patriot's  breast  as  he  walks 


Personal  Happiness  Promoted  oy  Soul-Culture.        425 

by  that  solitary  watch-fire.  In  any  case,  I  would  hesitate  to  call  the 
main  body  happy,  because  they  repose  in  ease  and  security  behind 
their  intrenchments,  and  are  grouped,  it  may  be,  in  lounging  circles, 
crystalized  by  the  magic  of  a  pun  or  story,  or  inflated  by  the  music 
of  blaring  brass  or  the  vulgar  viol. 

It  is  quite  true  that  the  private  history  of  men  who  are  most  de- 
voted to  intellectual  pursuits  is  not  such  as  to  give  the  impression 
that  happiness  keeps  pace  with  knowledge.  Why  is  it  that  as  men 
advance  in  knowledge — I  will  not  say  cultivation — they  are  multi- 
plying the  avenues  through  which  unhappiness  enters  ? 

To  answer  this  question,  I  must  define  true  culture.  In  the  case 
of  the  health-seeker  it  is  well  known  that  all  efforts  toward  physical 
culture  should  be  properly  harmonized.  If,  for  example,  he  develop 
one  part  of  his  body  too  much,  it  generally  happens  that  the  gain  in 
that  part  is  at  the  expense  of  some  other,  or,  indeed,  it  may  involve 
the  utter  sacrifice  of  symmetry  and  efficiency.  A  man  may  gain 
strength  at  the  expense  of  grace  and  delicacy,  or  increase  of  weight 
until  he  rivals  a  fatted  ox,  but  it  will  be  at  the  sacrifice  of  all  mental 
weight.  Now,  cultivation  brings  happiness  only  so  far  as  it  works  in 
the  line  of  nature's  plan.  We  are  gifted  with  bodies  composed  of 
complicated  systems,  each  working  harmoniously  for  a  general  end. 
So  far  as  we  cultivate  them  in  their  proper  balance,  we  reap  the  nat- 
ural rewards — freedom  and  grace  of  movement,  power,  happiness. 
With  still  more  emphasis  is  this  true  of  our  mental  and  moral  natures. 
Proper  culture  must  be  harmonious,  and  in  accordance  with  the  ob- 
jects for  which  our  powers  were  given  us.  Our  minds  are  related  to 
wide  ranges  of  truth.  They  need  discipline.  They  need  stores  of 
acquisition.  They  crave  a  basis  of  actual  knowledge  from  which  to 
extend  discovery.  But  the  mind  cannot  work  efficiently  without  the 
aid  of  a  more  potent  ally.  Exalted  in  this  system  of  ours  above  all 
other  faculties,  in  the  very  centre  of  our  being,  is  the  heaven-gifted 
spirit.  In  all  efforts  toward  culture  she  should  be  supreme.  Fact, 
science,  thought,  all  fail  of  their  proper  effect,  if  they  do  not  reach 
the  moral  centre  of  being. 

If  we  investigate  the  sources  of  the  unhappiness  which  men  of 
apparent  culture  experience,  we  will  find  that  they  suffer  not  so  much 
from  cultivation  as  from  the  lack  of  it.  Men  work  against  nature, 
and  become  morbid  or  monstrous.  For  instance,  a  man  is  mighty  in 
accumulated  facts,  or  is  learned  in  the  sciences,  or  is  shrewd  in  crit- 


426  THE    HESPERIAN. 

icism,  but  is  so  localized  by  this  special  culture,  that  outside  of  his 
particular  province,  he  perceives  neither  harmony  nor  truth.  Attain- 
ment stops  short  of  its  proper  goal  by  resting  in  a  simple  intell°ction, 
while  motives  and  morals  are  all  uninfluenced  by  it.  I  once  saw  an 
ocean  steamship  in  a  sad  plight.  After  a  stormy  voyage  safely  passed, 
while  pursuing  an  even  course  along  a  placid  river,  a  mistake  on  the 
part  of  the  helmsman  changed  the  vessel's  direction,  and  in  a  few 
moments,  while  one  wheel  was  revolving  in  its  proper  element,  the 
other  was  smashing  and  crashing  among  the  forest  trees  that  lined 
the  river  bank.  Of  course  such  a  scene  was  one  of  confusion  and 
danger.  Just  such  a  blunder  do  men  make  who  attempt  any  course 
of  culture  outside  of  nature's  plan.  Beneath  us  is  stretched  a  mighty 
tide  of  truth,  buoyant  and  deep.  Borne  onward  upon  this,  we  attain 
power  and  progress.  For  advancing  upon  this,  our  proper  element, 
our  motive  powers  and  all  our  faculties  are  adapted.  Trying  to  pro- 
gress upon  any  other  element,  we  experience  vexation,  unhappiness 
and  wreck.  Our  propelling  powers  are  as  ill  adapted  to  the  shoals 
of  error,  as  the  steamer's  wheels  to  advance  through  a  forest.  Men 
sometimes  heap  up  vast  acquirements  of  fact,  of  science,  of  mere 
mental  attainment,  and  after  all  find  themselves  utterly  helpless,  after 
a  long  and  apparently  prosperous  intellectual  journey.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  such  are  unhappy?  The  mind  loaded  down  with  the 
spoils  of  victorious  struggles,  comes  at  last  to  find  itself  checked — 
no  room  for  progress — no  resting  place  for  faith — no  abiding  result  of 
all  its  labors ! 

No  culture  is  symmetrical  which  does  not  tend  to  restore  the 
moral  consciousness  to  its  proper  supremacy.  The  spirit  is  mightier 
than  the  mind.  To  be  a  living,  sensitive,  spiritual  being,  is  far  great- 
er and  grander  than  to  be  learned  in  all  the  mathematics.  For  the 
culture  of  the  human  spirit,  all  nature  stands.  Whatever  of  grandeur, 
or  power,  or  beauty  she  expresses  or  suggests,  is  more  than  rivaled 
by  the  grace  and  grandeur  of  the  spirit  within  us.  Fame,  indeed,  is 
the  happiness  which  a  mere  mental  development  produces,  compared 
with  that  pure,  speechless  joy  which  fills  all  the  deep  capacities  of 
the  cultured  spirit,  when,  poised  on  some  divinely  prepared  seat  of 
power,  above  the  fret  and  tumult  of  the  world,  it  beholds  a  wonder- 
ful system  created  for  its  use,  and  subservient  to  its  noblest  desires. 
How  can  unhappiness  vex  a  spirit  thus  centered  upon  enduring  found- 
ations, with  Truth  and  Beauty  for  its  chosen  companions  ?     Such  a 


Personal  Happiness  Promoted  by  Soul-Culture.        427 

spirit  looks  serenely  upon  all  mysteries,  knowing  that  the  emergent 
years  will  bring  it  larger  knowledge,  purer  faith,  and  calmer  trust. 

I  know  that  this  complete  style  of  culture  demands  great  ener- 
gies and  great  sacrifices.  He  who  is  wreathed  with  the  splendors  of 
spirit-gifts  is  not  always  rich  in  fame,  or  worldly  goods.  He  who  in 
the  solemnity  of  solitude  can  stand  erect,  in  the  dignity  and  power 
of  a  full  and  pure  manhood,  claiming  kindred  with  all  lofty  spirits, 
and  even  looking  upward  to  the  Infinite  with  the  rapture  of  reci- 
procated love,  may  walk  companionless  and  obscure  among  men. 
But  one  glimpse  of  the  landscapes  which  constitute  such  a  man's 
every-day  scenery,  is  better  than  the  aggregated  pomp  and  splendor 
of  all  lesser  joys. 

Then  blame  not  those  tears.  They  are  not  symbols  of  unhap- 
piness.  They  are  gushing  from  founts  of  life  and  joy.  These  are 
the  mute  signs  of  a  happiness  too  pure  and  too  exalted  for  language. 
Wonder  not  that  the  forward-reaching  spirit  should,  at  times,  chide 
the  slowness  of  progress,  and  orphan-like,  pine  for  the  distant  home 
of  its  sympathies.  There  must  be  some  commotion  where  so  many 
tides  of  mingled  passion  and  power  unite  to  seek  a  common  course. 
These  little  fretting  waves  of  effort  and  desire,  will  ere  long  subside 
into  the  mighty  calm  of  a  happy,  triumphant  achievement ! 


It  is  good  for  us  that  all  those  comforts  should  be  imbittered 
which,  by  the  hope  of  present  delights,  draw  us  away  from  eternal 
things.  Without  the  supreme  love  of  God,  all  things  are  frivolous. 
We  should  give  thanks  for  all  that  befalleth  us,  whether  it  be  sweet 
or  bitter,  good  or  evil,  delightful  or  sorrowful,  since  we  see  the 
beginning  only,  not  the  winding  up  of  events.  Though  we  should 
possess  all  created  good,  yet  we  could  not  be  happy  but  in  God, 
who  hath  created  all  things.  The  true  Christian's  love  begins  and 
terminates  in  God,  it  detaches  from  earthly  things,  makes  every 
burden  light,  and  bears  with  cheerfulness  all  the  vicissitudes  of  life. 
Nothing  to  a  truly  elevated  mind,  will  seem  great,  nothing  precious, 
nothing  high,  nothing  worthy  of  ardent  desire,  but  that  which  is 
everlasting. 

^    »    m 

How  can  a  man  hope  to  find  God  at  the  moment  of  death,  who 
has  never  sought  for  him  during  his  life  ? 


HOMES     FOR    THE    HOMELESS 


BY     DUGANNE. 


Homes  for  the  homeless  ! 

Our  prayers  still  rise  : 
Justice  is  faithful — 

And  Truth  never  dies. 
Roses  for  nettles, 

And  plenty  for  dearth  ; 
Homes  for  the  homeless, 

On  God's  free  earth. 

Homes  for  the  orphan — 

The  widow  forlorn  ; 
Homes  for  the  exile — 

Where'er  he  was  horn. 
Give  us,  0  country  ! 

Our  right  to  the  soil  : — 
Earth  shall  he  gladsome 

With  generous  toil. 

Homes  for  the  homeless — 

Who  famish  for  bread — 
Earth  for  the  living, 

And  earth  for  the  dead. 
Give  us  our  birthright, 

0  tyrannous  gold  ! 
The  land  is  our  Charter- 

It  shall  not  be  sold  ! 


In  the  circle  of  our  acquaintance  there  may  be  some  who  over- 
look our  good  qualities  to  find  out  our  defects,  while  others  will  be 
partial  to  our  good  qualities  and  overlook  our  defects  ;  but  those 
friends  will  prove  the  most  worthy  of  our  attachment,  who  can 
make  allowances  for  human  frailty,  from  a  sense  of  their  own  im- 
perfections, who  can  approve  without  flattery,  and  can  censure  with 
kindness. 


THE   GOLDEN  VIOLET.     (Viola  aurea.  [Kellogg.]) 


BY  DR.  A.  KELLOGG. 


Had  one  of  a  thousand  of  those  who  have  recently  paid  flying  visits 
to  Nevada  territory  and  the  mining  region  of  Washoe,  collected  even 
a  tithe  of  the  plants  which  Mr.  C.  W.  Dorr  has  submitted  to  our 
inspection,  and  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  new  violet  here 
figured,  the  Pacific  flora  would  have  been  advanced  beyond  measure. 
In  due  time,  health  and  business  permitting,  we  shall  take  much 
pleasure  in  illustrating  many  new  and  beautiful  objects  of  natural 
history  found  in  his  valuable  collection.  Beauty  is  found  every- 
where to  the  eye  that  can  see  it.  "  The  spirit  of  God  works  every- 
where alike,"  says  the  eloquent  Ruskin,  "  covering  all  lonely  places 
with  an  equal  glory,  using  the  same  pencil,  and  outpouring  the 
same  splendour  in  the  obscurest  nooks,  in  spots  foolishly  deemed 
waste,  and  amongst  the  simplest  and  humblest  organisms,  as  well 
as  in  the  star-strewn  spaces  of  heaven,  and  amongst  the  capable 
witnesses  of  His  working." 

This  alpine  violet  is  almost  woolly  in  its  general  appearance  with 
a  whitish  pubescence. 

The  flower  is  a  pure  brilliant  unmixed  yellow,  with  smooth  wing 
petals,  the  lower  petal  simply  saccate.  The  yellowness  is  seen 
mixed  with  a  greenish  tinge  throughout  the  plant  ;  in  the  stem, 
flower  stem  and  veins,  however,  more  conspicuously. 

The  sketch  itself  sufficiently  illustrates  the  details. 


THE  CATCHFLY.     (Silene  Scouleri). 


BY    DR.  A.    KELLOGG. 


It  affords  us  much  pleasure  to  acknowledge  our  obligations  to 
Mr.  G.  W.  Dunn,  of  Oakland,  for  the  very  fine  specimen  from  which 
our  sketch  is  taken. 

The  charming  aptness  of  common  names,  is  beautifully  illustrat- 


430  THE    HESPERIAN 

ed  in  the  example  before  us.  The  appropriateness  of  the  name 
Catch-fly  will  more  fully  appear  when  we  assure  our  readers  the 
fly  was  actually  caught  on  the  plant,  exactly  as  here  delineated. 

The  generic  name  Silene,  is  from  the  Greek  word  slalon  or 
saliva,  in  allusion  to  the  viscid  or  gummy  exudations  of  many 
species,  which  like  the  sticky  bird-lime,  holds  the  heedless  flies  that 
chance  to  come  in  contact. 

The  color  of  the  flowers  is  light  lively  red  above,  paler  beneath : 
the  2-cleft  appendages  or  crowns  at  the  base  of  each  claw,  encircling 
the  throat  of  the  flower,  are  2  to  3  sub-notched  and  more  brilliant 
red,  especially  the  border* — the  flowers  are  sometimes  whitish  or 
flesh-colored.  The  stem  is  straight  and  simple,  or  only  oppositely 
branched  with  flower  stems  as  seen  in  the  figure ;  the  swelled  joints 
are  often  reddish  on  the  sunny-side ;  the  internodes  short ;  the  whole 
plant — except,  perhaps  the  lower  part — is  clothed  with  short  velvety 
viscid  glandular  hairs.  The  lower  leaves— one  of  which  is  given  in 
the  figure — are  five  to  eight  inches  long,  and  about  one  and  a  quarter 
broad,  or  oblong-lanceolate  and  acuminate  at  both  ends,  3  to  5- 
nerved,  and  often  triplinerved  above  ;  the  upper  leaves  successively 
smaller,  etc.,  as  seen  :  it  is  worthy  of  note,  that  each  leaf  is  termin- 
ated by  a  large  gland  at  the  tip. 

In  a  country  so  abounding  with  floral  beauties,  this  plant  has 
hitherto  attracted  very  little  admiration.  It  is  one  of  our  most 
robust  species,  growing  from  two  to  five  feet  in  hight. 


Religion  is  the  offspring  of  truth  and  love,  and  the  parent  of 
benevolence,  hope,  and  joy  ;  yielding  to  immoral  pleasures  corrupts 
the  mind,  living  to  animal  and  triflng  ones  diseases  it,  both  in  their 
degree  disqualify  it  for  its  genuine  good.  Whoever  would  be  really 
happy,  must  make  the  diligent  and  regular  exercise  of  his  superior 
powers  his  chief  concern. 


Men  dote  on  this  world  as  if  it  were  never  to  have  an  end,  and 
neglect  the  next  as  if  it  were  never  to  have  a  beginning. 

*  No  writer  we  have  consulted,  appears  to  notice  the  long  lateral  tooth  on  either 
side — see  the  separate  petal. 


LIKE     FALLING    DEW 


BY    C.    H.    DORK. 


The  dew  of  night,  that  brings  new  life  for  day, 

All  silent  gently  falls  o'er  shadow'd  earth  ; 

It  gems  the  flowers,  that  ope  their  tender  lips 

With  fragrant  breath,  as  each  its  tribute  sips; 

Its  kisses  press  the  buds  to  give  them  birth. 

Then  when  young  day  comes  on,  his  trembling  light, 

Finds  earth  and  herbage  strewn  with  tears  of  night. 

Thus  love  'mid  life's  dark  shadows  may  descend, 
And  true  affections  come  like  glitt'ring  dew ; 
Bright  hopes  as  flowers  refreshed  shall  spring, 
And  o'er  our  hearts  their  genial  influence  fling. 
Then  changing  time  can  only  but  renew 
Our  purest  joys,  that  coming  from  above, 
Like  angel's  tears,  shall  bathe  our  souls  in  love 


THE     WOELD'S     ALL     FACE 


BY    REV.    E.    H. 


How  changeful  is  this  cheerless  world, 
A  pennon  in  the  wind  unfurled, 

Now  floating  here,  now  waving  there — 
No  constant  form,  yet  always  fair. 

The  richest  splendor  of  the  morn, 
Is  dim'd  ere  mid-day  hy  the  storm ; 

The  full,  refulgent  noon-tide  ray, 
Is  darkness,  ere  the  close  of  day. 

As  scowling  "  storm  clouds"  hide  the  moon, 

So  brightest  hopes  are  gulfed  in  gloom, 
And  when  our  life-tide  swells  with  cheer, 

Some  darkling  tempest  howls  too  near, 
And  friendship,  fairer  than  the  morn, 

Is  stern  indifference  in  the  storm, 
And  souls  which  seem  as  pure  as  light, 

Have  hearts  as  dark  as  hell  at  night. 


432  THE    HESPEKIAN. 

From  a  copy  of  the  Connecticut  Courant  bearing  date  of  January 
11th,  1774,  we  make  the  following  extract,  which  shows  the  feelings 
of  the  people,  and  the  spirit  of  the  public  journals  at  that  day  : 

TO    ALL    NATIONS    UNDER    HEAVEN. 

Know  ye,  That  the  people  of  the  American  world,  are  millions 
strong — countless  legions  compose  their  united  Army  of  Freemen 
— whose  intrepid  souls  sparkle  with  Liberty,  and  their  hearts  are 
flinted  with  courage,  to  effect  what  their  wisdom  dictates  to  be  done. 
America  now  stands  with  the  scale  of  Justice  in  one  hand,  and  the 
sword  of  Vengeance  in  the  other ;  and  whatever  nation  or  people, 
who  dares  to  lift  a  hostile  hand  against  her,  to  invade  her  serene  re- 
gions, or  sully  her  liberty,  shall Let  the  Britons  fear  to  do  any 

more  so  wickedly  as  they  have  done,  for  the  herculean  arm  of  this 
New  World  is  lifted  up — and  woe  be  to  them  on  whom  it  fills  ! 
At  the  beat  of  the  drum,  she  can  call  five  hundred  thousand  of  her 
Son*  to  Arms,  before  whose  blazing  shields  none  can  stand.  There- 
fore, ye  that  are  wise,  make  peace  with  her,  take  shelter  under  her 
wings,  that  ye  may  shine  by  the  reflection  of  her  glory. 

May  the  New  Year  shine  propitious  on  the  New  World,  and 
Virtue  and  Liberty  reign  here  without  a  foe,  until  rolling  years  shall 
measure  time  no  more. 


The  true  key  of  the  universe  is  love.  That  levels  all  inequalities, 
"  makes  low  the  mountain  and  exalts  the  valley,"  and  brings  human 
beings  of  every  age  and  every  station  into  a  state  of  brotherhood. 
"  The  lion  and  the  lamb  lie  down  together  ;  the  leopard  dwells  with 
the  kid,  and  a  little  child  shall  lead  them."  What  unprejudiced  man 
can  look  abroad  in  the  world  and  not  see  this  ?  The  splendid  sun, 
the  cerulean  sky,  the  majestic  trees,  the  green  earth,  the  thousand 
colors  that  enamel  the  mead,  the  silver  stream,  in  beauty  composed 
and  serene,  living  in  the  endless  flow  of  its  waters,  all  talk  of  what 
softens  the  heart,  and  inspire  kindness  and  affection  to  our  disposi- 
tions and  feelings.  Has  not  God  made  man  the  crown  of  his 
works  and  stamped  all  his  limbs  with  majesty  and  grace ;  and  shall 
we  treat  with  harshness  and  indignity  what  God  has  chosen  for  his 
living  temple  ?  No  :  the  man  that  is  austere  to  his  brother  mortal, 
is  the  true  'practical  atheist.  The  true  system  for  governing  the  world, 
for  fashioning  the  tender  spirits  of  youth,  for  smoothing  the  pillow  of 
age,  is  love.  The  one  thing  which  most  exalts  and  illustrates  man 
is  disinterested  affection.  We  are  never  so  truly  what  we  are  capa- 
ble of  being,  as  when  we  are  ready  to  sacrifice  ourselves  for  others, 
and  immolate  our  self-love  on  the  altar  of  benevolence.  There  is  no 
joy  like  the  joy  of  a  generous  sentiment,  to  go  about  doing  good. 
To  make  it  our  meat  and  drink  to  promote  the  happiness  of  others, 
and  diffuse  confidence  and  love  to  every  one  within  the  reach  of  our 
influence. — Claudstey. 


$mt$txt    §*p&rtm*ttt. 


UN FERMENTED     BREAD. 


BY  DR.  A.  KELLOGG. 

In  every  progress  of  the  arts  and  sciences  we  are  all  interested;  and 
it  is  well  occasionally  to  recur  to  the  origin  of  new  ideas,  for  as  the 
successive  steps  of  any  art  pass  in  review  before  us,  we  are  led  to  a 
better  appreciation  of  the  blessings  of  the  present.  Research  and 
rapid  progress  preeminently  mark  the  age  in  which  we  live ;  and  for 
one  we  are  right  glad  to  be  alive  in  such  an  age.  Our  theological 
theory  (doctrine,  if  you  please,)  is,  that  in  the  order  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence all  evils  have  their  consummation.  The  heroes  and  reformers, 
the  Joshuas  and  Calebs,  the  great  seers,  poets  and  prophets  of  the 
better  time  coming  are  always  provided.  Even  now  we  behold  the 
mighty  patriots  and  heroes  rising  up  iu  gigantic  proportions  along 
the  glorious  horizon.  Let  us,  therefore,  "  render  unto  Caesar  the 
things  that  are  Cassar's." 

Our  present  purpose,  however,  is  to  do  honor  to  another  great 
benefactor  of  mankind. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  1S16,  a  professor  of  chemistry  in  the  uni- 
versity of  Glascow — Dr.  Thomas  Thompson — began  to  inquire  into 
the  rationale  of  bread-making,  and  wrote  an  essay  on  baking.  The 
only  use  subserved  in  fermentation  he  discovered  to  be  the  generation 
of  the  carbonic  acid  gas  required  to  raise  the  dough. 

We  believe  all  chemical  authorities  agree  that  in  bread  made  by 
fermentation  the  saccharine  part  of  the  flour,  with  portions  of  gum, 
gluten  and  starch,  are  lost  by  being  converted  into  carbonic  acid  gas 
and  alchohol,  which,  of  course,  are  driven  off  into  the  atmosphere  by 
the  heat  of  the  oven.  Indeed,  it  is  well  known  that  ovens  have  been 
patented  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  the  alchohol  thus  distilled. 

Did  our  space  allow,  it  would  be  exceedingly  interesting  to  fol- 
low this  subject  into  the  more  than  fairy  fields  that  spring  forth  to 
our  admiring  gaze,  touched  by  the  magic  wand  of  the  microscope. 
Fermentation  is  the  first  step  towards  decay,  which  may  be  viewed 


434  THE    HESPERIAN. 

as  chemical ;  but  it  may  surprise  many,  as  the  Eev.  Hugh  McMillan 
observes,  that  yeast  is  merely  an  undeveloped  condition  of  the  com- 
mon mould  they  see  on  their  bread  and  cheese.  The  process  there- 
fore is  a  rapid  vegetative  growth  of  minute  fungi.  The  yeast  plant  is  the 
Forula  cervisice.  The  first  form  is  that  of  a  number  of  small  vesicles 
containing  others  still  smaller  within,  strung  together  like  a  necklace 
of  beads.  By  the  time  five  or  six  of  these  get  in  a  string,  the  baker 
checks  it.  The  vegetation  is  then  suspended  and  the  groups  of  ves- 
icles separate  into  individuals,  the  mass  of  which  constitutes  yeast. 
Although  these  cells  are  globular  at  first,  they  soon  change  while  the 
nutrient  materials  are  being  used  up,  into  the  oval  form.  When  the 
sugar  is  still  more  exhausted,  they  become  linear,  thread-like.  (In 
this  condition  big  loaves  for  the  money,  can  be  made  and  munched.) 
Finally,  when  all  the  nutrient  constituents  are  gone,  we  have  the 
plant  Pencillium,  or  mould,  growing  in  the  soil.  Alcohol  is  a  pro- 
duct of  corruption  arrested  at  a  certain  stage.  Fungi  are  also  pro- 
ducts of  decaying  organic  matter  similarly  arrested  at  a  certain  stage 
and  embodied  in  a  new  form  of  vegetable  growth.  It  is  therefore 
but  reasonable  to  expect  their  effects  should  often  be  similar,  when 
their  origin  is  identical.  The  vital  forces  even  seize  upon  and  appro- 
priate the  auras  of  dying  animals,  as  any  one  may  learn  from  medical 
authorities.  We  do  not  affirm  that  the  most  nutritious  substances 
are  always  best;  we  leave  the  inference  with  the  reader  and  his  med- 
ical adviser. 

We  have  never  visited  an  unfermented  bread  manufactory — but 
the  swill  of  a  common  grain  distillery  can  scarcely  be  less  offensive 
to  unperverted  olfactories  than  many  modern  bakeries.  Now  all  this 
waste— to  say  nothing  of  the  nauseous  residue  of  chips  and  things 
some  of  our  modern  bakeries  serve  up —  is  incurred  solely  to  obtain 
the  gas.  According  to  M.  Dumas,  17.6  per  cent,  is  thus  lost ;  others 
estimate  more.  To  the  dollar-and-cent  man  on  'Change,  we  would 
ask  what  difference  it  makes  to  him  whether  he  is  shaved  17  per  cent. 
one  way  or  or  another  ?  We  are  not  however  disposed  to  let  him 
off  so  easily  as  all  that.     We  have  forty  other  reasons 

"  Sound  as  e're  were  taken 
From  Aristotle,  Locke  or  Bacon," 

why  he  too,  should  heed  this  vital  question.  The  laboring  poor,  it 
is  true,  are  much  more  immediately  interested  than  the  rich  and  idly 


Unfer merited  Bread.  435 

luxurious,  depending,  as  they  do,  more  upon  bread  for  nourishment ; 
their  health,  also,  is  more  important  to  themselves  and  to  the  world. 

Hot  bread,  biscuit,  cakes,  in  short,  everything  that  has  been  par- 
tially fermented,  or  the  fermentation  suspended,  readily  resumes  the 
fermentative  process,  to  the  great  discomfort  or  often  serious  injury 
of  many  stomachs  ;  hence  the  universal  medical  interdiction  of  new, 
and  recommendation  of  stale  bread,  etc.  The  reason  is  obvious  to 
every  one;  whenever  the  digestive  powers  are  too  weak  to  counter- 
act, control,  or  arrest  the  chemical  and  fungoid  tendencies,  the  fer- 
ment goes  on,  and  is  also  communicated  to  all  the  food  in  contact,  for 
who  does  not  know  that  "  a  little  leaven  leaveneth  the  whole  lump." 
Then  follows  the  long  train  of  dyspeptic  S3Tmptoms,  headache,  acid- 
ity, flatulence,  and  a  thousand  and  one  other  nameless  ills.  These 
truisms  have  been  so  often  repeated  we  can  scarcely  muster  patience 
to  pen  them  for  stupidity  to  read  and  reject.  Perhaps  we  trench  too 
much  upon  the  province  of  the  medical  essayist,  but  as  we  are 
obliged  to  render  a  reason,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  see  how  we  can  avoid 
it. 

Professor  Thompson's  suggestion  for  furnishing  the  gas  to  raise 
the  dough  without  impairing  the  healthful  quality  of  the  bread,  was, 
to  take  the  chemical  elements  of  common  table  salt  in  just  the  exact 
proportions  to  form  that  article,  which  every  child  knows  to  be 
wholesome.  This  might  be  obtained,  as  he  observed,  from  bicarbon- 
ate of  soda  by  mixing  a  portion  of  that  article  with  the  flour,  and  then 
adding  a  corresponding  quantity  of  the  acid  of  salt  of  the  older  chem- 
ists, but  now  known  as  hydro-chloric,  or  muriatic.  Bread  made  in 
this  way,  therefore,  would  contain  nothing  but  flour,  table  salt  and 
water.  Let  it  be  distinctly  understood  that  the  foregoing  hints  have 
no  affinity  with  the  much  vaunted  yeast  powders  which  are  ruining  the 
stomachs  of  thousands,  against  which,  as  a  medical  philanthropist, 
we  most  solemnly  protest.  It  is  bad  enough  for  doctors  to  be  obliged 
to  drug  their  patients  occasionally,  but  with  the  cook  and  the  baker 
too  in  league  with  the good  Lord  deliver  us ! 

In  a  future  number  we  propose  to  pursue  this  subject,  and  give 
our  readers  a  few  useful  recipes  for  cooking  in  Esculapian  style. 
This  is  the  more  necessary  as  our  friends  in  the  country  cannot  avail 
themselves  of  the  services  of  the  Unfermented  Bread  Co.  We  know 
none  of  them,  not  even  a  shareholder,  unless,  perchance,  some  un- 
known friends  may  be  patrons  of  this  last  great  blessing  to  the  com- 


436  THE   HESPERIAN. 

munity.     We  regret  that  rumor  should  charge  them  with  some  mis- 
management, and  mechanical  blunders,  but  experience  will  correct 

these. 


An  Improved  method  of  making  Coffee. — Pat  the  coffee  (after 
grinding)  into  a  flannel  bag,  tie  it  closely,  allowing  sufficient  room  to 
boil  freely,  put  it  into  the  boiler,  adding  as  much  water  as  may  be 
required.  After  boiling,  it  will  be  found  to  be  perfectly  clear,  without 
the  addition  of  egg,  etc.,  having  likewise  the  advantage  of  retaining 
its  original  flavor  and  strength  in  greater  perfection  than  when  clarified. 

Sponge  Cake. — Dissolve  three-quarters  of  a  pound  of  lump  sugar 
in  half  a  pint  of  water,  simmer  it  over  a  slow  fire  until  it  is  quite 
clear,  then  pour  it  into  a  bowl,  adding  the  grated  rind  of  a  lemon  or 
essence  of  lemon,  according  to  taste,  say  a  tea-spoonful,  and  keep 
stirring  it  until  it  is  cold.  Then  take  the  yolks  of  eight  eggs  and  the 
whites  of  two  ;  beat  them  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  mix  the  eggs 
and  syrup  together  and  beat  the  mixture  half  an  hour  longer.  Just 
before  you  put  it  into  the  oven,  stir  in  by  degrees  half  a  pound  of 
flour.     One  hour  and  a  quarter  will  bake  it. 

Flowers  in  Winter. — Let  some  of  the  most  perfect  buds  of  the 
flowers  it  is  wished  to  preserve — such  as  are  latest  in  blowing,  and 
ready  to  open — be  chosen  ;  cut  them  off  with  a  pair  of  scissors, 
leaving  the  stem  about  three  inches  long;  cover  the  end  immediately 
with  Spanish  wax,  and  when  the  buds  are  a  little  shrunk  and  wrink- 
led, wrap  them  up  separately  in  paper,  and  place  them  in  a  dry  box. 
When  it  is  desired  to  have  the  flowers  to  blow,  take  the  buds  over 
night,  cut  off  the  sealed  end  of  the  stem,  and  put  the  buds  into  water 
wherein  has  been  infused  a  little  nitre  or  salt,  and  the  next  day  you 
will  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  buds  open  and  expand  themselves, 
and  the  flowers  display  their  most  lively  colors  and  breathe  their 
asrreeable  odor  around. 


A    WORD     IN     SEASON 


As  Thanksgiving,  and  the  approaching  holidays,  suggest  the  idea  of 
an  extra  elaboration  in  the  various  processes  of  cooking,  so  do  these 
again  point  to  Stewart's  Large-Oven  air-tight,  Summer  and  Win- 
ter cooking  stove,  as  the  very  best  for  such  operations,  and  perhaps 


A  Word  in  Season.  437 

the  ovly  one  where  the  culinary  arts  can  be  conducted  with  a  uniform 
and  complete  success.  To  say  that  the  ordinary  processes  of  baking, 
boiling,  broiling  and  frying,  as  well  as  the  quite  rare  and  uncommon 
one  of  ?-oasti?ig,  can  be  conducted  with  the  most  delicate  nicety,  is 
saying  but  very  little,  of  the  several  features  that  distinguish  this  ex- 
cellent stove  from  all  others. 

The  grand  trait  in  its  character  is  the  'perfect  control  of  the  heat, 
which  can  all  be  directed  to  any  given  point  or  end,  and  not  one  ray 
need  be  lost.  In  the  first  place,  the  tdges  are  all  finely  ground  and 
jointed  together,  so  that  the  stove  is  perfectly  air-tight.  The  econ- 
omy is  further  secured  by  a  complete  set  of  covers  with  reflecting 
sides  turned  toward  the  heated  stove,  so  that  not  only  is  the  radiation 
of  heat  prevented,  but  the  whole  surface  is  protected  from  cooling  by 
the  outer  air.  By  these  means  such  a  degree  of  economy  is  attained 
that,  by  a  continuous  application  of  heat,  you  may  bake  a  whole  bar- 
rel of  flour  with  the  consumption  of  only  twenty-five  pounds  of  coal. 
This  appears  fabulous,  nevertheless  it  is  true,  and  the  principle  is 
demonstrated  daily  by  all  who  are  so  fortunate  as  to  own  this  stove. 
And  in  addition  to  this,  we  may  have  thirty  or  forty  gallons  of  hot 
water  all  the  time,  sufficient  to  supply  the  bath  and  sleeping  rooms, 
■without  any  extra  expenditure  of  fuel. 

And  as  there  is  a  Dutch  oven  attached  to  the  outside  front,  while 
all  the  other  processes  are  going  on,  you  may  have  as  genuine  a  roast 
as  ever  graced  the  commodious  fires  of  the  Pilgrims  themselves.  This 
is  a  most  important  feature  for  the  good  housekeeper,  who  has  to 
cater  for  delicate  palates.  The  heat  of  the  oven  is  so  finely  temper- 
ed that  the  most  delicate  biscuit  and  pastry  will  come  out  unseared, 
while  large  loaves  of  cake  and  bread  will  be  as  evenly  and  thoroughly 
done,  as  in  a  brick  oven.  The  fixtures  are  numerous,  convenient  and 
finely  finished.  And  I  think  that  all  housekeepers  who  are  so  for- 
tunate as  to  make  the  experiment,  will  agree  in  saying  that  they 
never  knew  any  stove  where  so  much  can  be  done  at  once,  and  so 
well  done,  with  so  small  an  expenditure  of  fuel,  as  in  this.  To  crown 
the  whole,  its  external  appearance  is  very  agreeable,  and  this  is  b}* 
no  means  unimportant,  for  the  ministry  of  the  Beautiful,  even  in 
common  and  familiar  implements,  has  always  its  proper  functions 
and  true  uses,  leading  the  spirit  ever  upward  to  the  Highest  Source 
of  Beaut}''  in  Infinite  Perfection. 

Caleb  M.  Sickler,  422  Kearny  street,  is  sole  agent  for  the  sale  of 
this  stove.  F.  Gr. 


%\\t    €Mi'&xt®r$    ($>*tntx. 


CHRISTMAS     FAIRIES, 


BY  MRS.  M.  D.  STRONG. 


"  Oh  dear  me  !"  said  little  Willie  in  a  fretful,  impatient  tone. 

He  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  throwing  up  his  feet,  and  pulling  now 
and  then  at  the  window  curtain.  His  sister  Clara  looked  up  a  mo- 
ment from  her  book,  and  then  went  on  with  her  reading. 

Presently  Willie  asked,  "  Where's  mother  ?" 

"  She's  up  stairs,"  said  Clara. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  getting  off  the  sofa,  "  I'm  going  up  to  stay  with 
her." 

"  Oh,  no  you  mustn't,"  said  Clara,  "  she's  very  busy,  and  she 
told  me  to  take  care  of  you  and  Gracie  here." 

"  Oh  dear  !"  said  Willie,  throwing  himself  down  on  the  carpet, 
"  tell  me  what  to  play  then." 

"  Play  anything  you  like." 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  to  play.  Uncle  and  Auntie  and  cousin 
Frank  won't  come  till  three  or  four  o'clock,  you  said,  and  the  Christ- 
mas tree  won't  come  till  dark.  I  don't  think  it's  merry  Christmas  at 
all.     It's  so  long  waiting  till  the  merry  comes,  I've  got  tired." 

"  I  aint  tired  at  all,"  said  little  Gracie,  who  was  sitting  in  her 
rocking  chain  by  the  fire,  soothing  her  dolly  to  sleep  ;  "  I  fink  it  is  a 
real  nice  Kitmas." 

Clara  laughed.  "  The  Christmas  tree  has  come,  Willie,"  said  she, 
"  I  saw  father  bring  it  into  the  parlor  this  morning  ;  only  it  hasn't 
borne  any  fruit  yet." 

"  Fruit !  what  fruit  will  it  bear  ?" 

"  Oh !  you'll  see  by  and  by,"  said  his  sister,  "  lots  of  pretty  things 
I  guess." 

"Clara,"  said  Willie,  "  tell  me,  does  Santa  Claus  really  bring  all 
the  things,  and  put  them  on  the  Christmas  tree?  does  he  really  ?" 

Clara  smiled  and  looked  very  knowing.  "  You'd  better  watch 
and  find  out,"  said  she. 


Christinas  Fairies.  439 

"  I  wonder  how  Santa  Claus  looks,"  said  Willie,  tracing  out  the 
flowers  on  the  carpet  with  his  finger. 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  said  Clara,  "I  never  saw  him." 
Willie  looked  musingly  into  his  sister's  face.  He  more  than  half 
suspected  that  his  father  and  mother  had  more  to  do  with  the  Christ- 
mas gifts  than  any  one  else  ;  yet  he  thought  in  his  heart  how  nice  it 
would  be  if  there  really  was  a  Santa  Claus,  who  loved  little  children 
and  had  such  a  world  of  nice  things  for  them. 

Presently  he  got  up.     "  Mayn't  I  go  into  the  parlor  and  see  the 
tree  ?"  said  he, 

"  Yes,"  said  Clara,  "  if  you  won't  touch  it  nor  do  any  mischief." 
Willie  promised  and  went  into  the  parlor.  Nobody  was  there, 
and  Willie  thought  it  looked  very  pleasant  and  coz}^.  The  shutters 
were  open,  and  the  curtains  looped  back,  and  Bridget  had  lit  a  bright 
fire  in  the  grate,  and  there  in  one  corner,  in  its  box,  stood  the  tree. 
It  was  a  very  pretty  tree,  and  Willie  sat  down  on  a  footstool,  and 
laid  his  head  on  the  velvet  cushion  of  the  armchair,  and  began  to 
wonder  what  there  would  be  on  the  tree  for  him,  and  Clara  and 
Gracie.  And  he  sat  there  and  looked  at  the  tree,  and  into  the  fire, 
and  thought  till  he  began  to  feel  almost  sleepy.  Pretty  soon  he 
heard  a  strange  noise — a  clear,  sharp  ringing  in  the  air,  only  not 
much  louder  than  the  singing  of  a  honey  bee.  He  jumped  up  and 
looked  around,  but  there  was  nothing  but  the  fire  and  the  Christmas 
tree  and  the  chairs  and  curtains  to  be  seen.  Then  he  turned  to  look 
out  of  the  window,  and  just  then  the  window  opened,  though  nobody 
seemed  to  open  it,  and  into  the  room,  walking  on  the  air  just  as  if  it 
had  been  solid  ground,  came  eight  tiny  reindeer,  drawing  a  beautiful 
little  car,  all  carved  out  of  ivory.  The  reindeer  were  all  snow  white, 
and  had  such  cunning  hoofs  and  horns  that  shone  like  silver,  and  each 
one  had  a  golden  collar  round  its  neck  set  thick  with  little  golden 
bells.  Oh  !  they  were  so  pretty  Willie  wanted  to  jump  up  and  down 
and  clap  his  hands  for  joy,  but  he  didn't  dare  to  for  fear  it  would 
frighten  them  away ;  so  he  nestled  noiselessly  in  the  big  arm  chair 
and  watched  them. 

Well,  they  came  down  on  the  carpet  and  stood  still  ;  and  Willie 
looked  at  the  driver.  He  sat  on  a  high  seat  in  front,  and  had  no 
reins,  but  called  out  to  his  team  when  he  wanted  to  stop  them,  and 
they  obeyed  him.  He  wore  a  green  cloak  all  fringed  with  silver,  and 
such  a  funny  green  cap  on  his  head  with  a  silver  tassel,  and  silver 


440  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

buckles  in  his  shoes,  and  he  wasn't  bigger  than  a  man's  thumb.  And 
in  the  car  behind  him,  sitting  on  a  pile  of  boxes,  with  boxes  before, 
and  boxes  behind,  and  boxes  on  each  side  of  him,  sat  the  queerest 
little  figure  you  ever  saw.  He  was  round  and  fat,  with  little  twink- 
ling black  eyes  that  looked  full  of  fun,  and  he  wore  a  coat  made  of 
butterflies  wings  and  a  jaunty  cap  made  of  a  red  rose  leaf  with  a  long 
plume  from  a  humming  bird's  tail,  and  in  his  hand  he  carried  what 
looked  like  a  stick  with  a  piece  of  rainbow  wound  around  it,  for 
which  ever  way  he  turned  it,  it  flashed  with  many  bright,  beautiful 
colors.  And  Willie  thought  these  must  be  the  Christmas  fairies,  for 
he  had  heard  Clara  say  that  fairies  always  carry  a  wand. 

As  soon  as  the  car  stood  still,  out  jumped  the  fairy  with  the  wand, 
and  with  a  box  on  his  head  and  one  on  each  shoulder  and  under  each 
arm,  he  ran  up  the  Christmas  tree,  as  if  he  had  been  a  mouse.  And 
Willie  saw  him  hang  on  the  tree  what  looked  like  a  small  bead — but 
he  touched  it  with  his  wand,  and  lo !  it  was  a  great  wax  doll,  as  big 
as  Gracie  could  carry,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  brown  curls,  and  eyes 
that  opened  and  shut,  and  such  a  beautiful  dress.  Then  he  hung  up 
another  bead  and  touched  it,  and  it  was  a  complete  little  ship,  all 
rigged  with  sails,  and  Willie  wanted  to  shout,  for  he  felt  sure  it  was 
for  him.  And  so  the  queer  little  fairy  kept  on  with  his  boxes  and 
his  rainbow  wand,  till  the  tree  was  as  full  as  it  could  hold  of  the 
most  beautiful  things  Willie  had  ever  seen.  Then  he  came  down 
out  of  the  tree,  and  still  he  had  one  box  left.  This  he  touched  with 
his  wonderful  wand,  and  out  rolled  a  great  Christinas  cake,  all  cov- 
ered with  frosting  and  having  a  boquet  of  sugar  flowers  on  the  top. 

All  this  time  the  tiny  reindeer  were  prancing  and  pawing  on  the 
carpet  with  their  little  hoofs,  and  tossing  their  silvery  horns  and  fil- 
ling the  room  with  the  sweet  chime  of  their  golden  bells;  and  the 
green  cloaked  driver  was  turning  somersaults  from  his  seat  to  the 
other  end  of  the  car,  as  if  he  couldn't  contain  the  mischief  that  was 
in  him,  and  singing  at  the  top  of  his  shrill  voice  a  Christmas  song. 

Over  the  mountain  and  over  the  plain, 

Straight  through  the  air  we  go, 
Sometimes  below  us  the  driving  rain, 

Sometimes  the  drifting  snow. 

But  it's  little  we  care,  in  our  ivory  car, 

We're  off  in  a  jiff  you  see  ; 
We  pick  out  the  homes  where  the  children  are, 

And  we  load  up  the  socks  or  the  tree. 


The  Villager  s  Winter  Evening  Song.  441 

Hurrah  for  merry,  merry  Christmas  time  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  for  the  little  folks  all ! 
When  you  hear  at  the  window  the  fairy  bells  chime, 

Look  out  for  a  Christmas  call. 

By  and  by  he  spied  Willie,  and  pulling  off  his  cap,  he  made  a  low 
bow,  and  then  began  to  pelt  him  with  fine  grains  of  something,  which, 
whenever  it  hit  him,  turned  into  sugar  plums,  and  sugar  hearts,  and 
lemon  drops,  and  peppermints,  and  cream  candy,  and  cocoa  nut  can- 
dy, and  all  sorts  of  candy. 

But  just  then  somebody  called,  "  Willie  !  Willie  !"  and  car,  rein- 
deer, fairies  and  boxes  whisked  out  of  sight  in  a  twinkling. 

"  Wake  up  Willie!  just  to  think  of  your  being  asleep  here  all 
this  while !  Uncle  and  Auntie  have  come,  and  cousin  Frank  and 
Ella,  and  the  Christmas  dinner  is  all  ready,  and  you  are  not  dressed 
yet.  •   Come  up  stairs  quick." 


THE    VILLAGER'S    WINTER-EVENING    SONG. 


BY    I.    T.    FIELD. 


Not  a  leaf  on  the  tree,  not  a  bud  in  the  hollow, 

Where  late  swung  the  blue-bell  and  blossomed  the  rose  ; 

And  hushed  is  the  cry  of  the  chirping  young  swallow, 
That  perched  on  the  hazel  in  twilight's  dim  close. 

Gone,  gone  are  the  cowslip  and  sweet-scented  brier,  ' 
That  bloomed  o'er  the  hillock  and  gladdened  the  vale  ; 

And  the  vine  that  uplifted  its  green-pointed  spire, 
Hangs  drooping  and  sere  on  the  frost-colored  pall. 

And  hark  to  the  gush  of  the  deep-wailing  fountain, 
That  prattled  and  shone  in  the  light  of  the  moon ; 

Soon,  soon  shall  its  rushing  be  still  on  the  mountain, 
And  locked  up  in  silence  its  merrisome  tune. 

Then  heap  up  the  hearth-stone  with  dry  forest  branches, 
And  gather  about  me  my  children  in  glee  ; 

For  cold  on  the  iipland  the  stormy  wind  launches, 
And  dear  is  the  home  of  my  loved  ones  to  me. 


<§  A  it  0 14 '  0   8  a  b !  £  ; 


The  Chinese  are  said  to  be  the  most  literary,  in  their  way,  of  any  nation  on 
the  globe.  Their  libraries  are  the  largest  in  the  world.  Their  books  are 
counted  by  millions,  and  date  back  to  that  twilight  of  time  which  is  only  tra- 
ditionary among  Europeans.  Not  only  have  they  held  learning  and  the 
learned  in  high  repute  since  the  commencement  of  the  christian  era,  but  even 
from  the  days  of  Solomon,  they  have  been  a  reading,  thinking,  book-produc- 
ing people.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  with  all  her  literary  appetite  and  countless 
multitudes  of  writers,  China  can  boast  of  but  one  female  author ;  and  even 
she  elaborated  but  this  single  thought,  which  seems  to  have  been  more  or  less 
adopted  as  a  beautiful  truth  the  world  over,  that  "  Woman  was  made  for  the 
same  purpose  that  tiles  were,  viz.,  for  men  to  tread  upon."  With  our  mod- 
ern ideas,  it  is  difficult  to  see  in  this  language  anything  but  keen  and  bitter 
satire  on  the  usages  of  the  world  among  most  people  in  every  age.  Yet  it 
was  intended  by  the  fair  almond-eyed  author  in  sober  earnest.  The  idea  of 
"  woman's  rights"  had  never  entered  her  brain.  She  believed  in  man's  rights. 
No  wonder  then  that  she  was  a  favorite  among  those  who  had  monopolized 
the  literature  and  learning  of  her  nation. 

How  different  is  the  estimate  in  which  woman  is  held  by  the  Caucasian 
race.  How  reversed  is  her  position  in  society  in  Europe  and  America. 
Here  she  models  all  character,  is  the  source  of  all  good  influences,  stimulates 
and  guides  all  onr  noble  charities,  regulates  public  sentiment,  is  queen  of 
families,  in  some  cases  holds  our  purse  strings,  and  in  one  way  or  another 
manages  to  compel  every  man  of  us  to  obey  her.  She  asserts  her  "rights," 
and  although  the  sterner  sex  may  grumble,  they  are  obliged  in  the  end  to 
yield.  The  time  was  when  she  was  not  supposed  to  have  even  a  soul,  but 
what  man  now  dares  to  be  such  a  brute  as  to  resist  ber  arguments  or  her 
will  1  He  had  better  be  chased  by  a  thousand  Furies  than  be  guilty  of  such 
folly.  No,  he  must  yield — he  has  yielded — he  will  yield — perhaps  be  driven 
from  the  field.  We  expect  the  tables  will  yet  be  completely  turned  upon  us. 
We  expect  the  time  will  come  when  she  will  hold  the  whip  and  reins,  make 
all  the  laws,  own  us,  with  all  our  hats,  pants  and  dickeys,  perhaps  compel 
us  to  bear  her  name,  tend  the  babies,  and  be  obedient,  as  becomes  dutiful 
husbands.  Well,  if  it  must  be,  all  we  have  to  say  is  :  Who  would  wish  to 
live  under  a  pleasanter  dispensation  ? 

But,  seriously,  there  has  been  a  great  change  in  the  status  of  woman, 
especially  in  America,  and  on  this  coast,  since  the  time  when  the  good 
Dr.  Watts  recorded,  apparently  with  deep  interest,  that  "  Even  women  were 
beginning  to  study  arithmetic  with  some  degree  of  success."     The  revolution 


Editors   Table,  443 

in  the  opinions  of  society  in  this  respect  has  heen  great.  It  will  undoubted- 
ly De  greater  in  the  future.  Whether  all  that  is  anticipated  by  the  advocates 
of  "  woman's  rights"  is  ever  realized  or  not,  there  must  and  will  certainly  be 
in  the  future  a  great  advancement  in  the  education  and  influence  accorded  to 
her  by  society.  We  apprehend  that  it  is  through  self-culture  and  self-discip- 
line, by  showing  what  she  is  in  mind  and  heart  and  will,  that  her  "  rights" 
will  be  secured.  The  women  of  America,  especially  those  on  this  coast, 
then,  have  a  mission  to  fulfill  in  laying  the  foundations  of  the  future  for  their 
sex;  and  if  they  are  heedless  or  untrue  to  that  mission,  or  resist  the  designs 
of  Providence  for  their  improvement,  they  will  afford  proof  that  the  opinion 
of  the  beautiful  author  from  the  Flowery  Kingdom  may  not  have  been  very 
far  out  of  the  way. 

Our  Illustrations. — We  feel  pleasure  and  pride  in  calling  attention  to 
our  Botanical  illustrations,  all  of  which  are  of  newly  discovered  California 
plants,  classified  and  electrotyped  by  Dr.  Kellogg,  to  whom  our  readers  have 
been  indebted  these  many  years  for  these  original  contributions  to  science. 
They  have  attracted  the  attention  of  scholars  in  Europe  and  America,  and 
are  really  the  most  valuable  portion  of  the  Hesperian.  As  soon  as  possible 
we  intend  to  have  them  colored ;  and  also  to  give  each  month  an  engraving 
of  some  California  bird  or  animal. 

Our  Advertisements. — We  wish  our  readers  to  understand  that  only 
select  advertisements  are  admitted  to  the  pages  of  our  magazine.  Persons 
needing  articles  in  their  line  will  do  well  to  give  these  parties  a  call. 

Those  wishing  Gift  Books  for  the  Holidays,  Annuals,  Photographic  Albums, 
or  Juvenile  books  of  any  description,  cannot  do  better  than  to  go  to  Boman 
&  Co.'s,  No.  417  Montgomery  street,  as  they  have  the  largest  and  choicest 
selection  in  the  city. 

Mr.  Friedlander,  also,  at  No.  102  Montgomery  street,  has  a  very  fine  as- 
sortment of-  French,  English  and  German  dry  goods,  and  his  gentlemanly 
manners  render  his  place  of  business  a  favorite  resort. 

Sewing  Machines. — If  any  of  our  readers  need  such  an  article,  by  all 
means  get  Singer's.  It  is  the  cheapest,  simplest,  most  durable,  reliable  and 
easily  worked  machine  now  in  use.  Try  it,  ladies ;  our  word  for  it,  it  will 
give  satisfaction. 

Shoes. — Our  old  friend  T.  H.  Paris  is  doing  a  driving  business  in  the 
shoe  line  at  No.  14  Second  street.  All  who  want  shoes  that  will  wear  and 
not  rip,  should  give  him  a  call,  as  his  entire  stock  is  choice  and  very  care- 
fully selected. 

Notices  of  the  Press. — Of  late  we  have  received  very  flattering  notices 
from  nearly  every  paper  in  the  State,  a  few  of  which  we  publish  in  this  issue 
for  the  satisfaction  of  our  readers. 


444  THE    HESPERIAN. 

The  "Old  Bach"  up  country  who  complains  of  not  having  received  the 
Hesperian  for  three  months,  is  informed  that  it  is  regularly  mailed  to  him  as 
it  is  to  all  our  subscribers  and  exchanges  by  our  own  hands.  The  fault  is 
certainly  not  in  us  but  in  the  males. 

Contributors. — We  are  happy  to  announce  to  our  readers  this  month 
another  new  contributor,  the  Rev.  E.  H.,  whose  fine  poem  will  be  read  with 
interest.  We  feel  more  than  ordinary  satisfaction  with  the  literary  character 
of  our  present  number.  We  are  certain  that  many  of  these  names  that  adorn 
our  pages  will  yet  be  revered  in  the  literary  circles  of  the  world,  and  will  add 
to  the  fame  of  our  young  State. 

Music. — Hereafter  each  number  will  contain  a  piece  of  original  music 
and  a  Domestic  Page.  Other  improvements  and  additions  will  be  made  as 
fast  as  the  state  of  our  finances  will  allow.  If  each  of  our  old  subscribers 
will  send  us  one  new  name,  we  will  agree  to  give  them  a  Magazine  as  finely 
illustrated  and  as  attractive  as  any  in  Europe  or  America.  To  clubs  of  Jive 
it  will  hereafter  be  furnished  for  $12,  or  of  ten  for  $20.  Any  person  sending 
us  four  new  names  with  $12,  shall  receive  a  fifth  copy  gratis,  or  be  credited 
with  a  year's  subscription.  J    D.  8 

[The  following  notice  of  the  passing  from  earth  of  a  much  esteemed  lady, 
came  to  us  too  late  for  place  in  the  last  number :] 

Our  friend  Mrs.  L.  S.  Demo,  wife  of  Hon.  C.  B.  Denio,  Master  Mason, 
U.  S.  Navy  Yard,  died  of  consumption  at  Vallejo  on  the  7th  of  October, 

It  was  the  privilege  of  the  writer  of  this  notice  to  come  to  this  State  on 
the  same  steamer  with  the  husband  of  Mrs.  Denio.  He,  like  many  others, 
was  full  of  hope  that  this  land  of  promise  would  fully  restore  to  health  his 
feeble  wife,  who  for  some  years  had  been  in  bad  health.  She  and  her  little 
ones,  four  in  number,  had  accompanied  him  as  far  as  New  York  City,  but 
were  advised  by  friends  to  remain  there  until  fall.  In  November  last  she  ar- 
rived in  San  Francisco,  where  her  husband  met  her,  and  on  the  28th  of  that 
month  came  to  Vallejo  where  he  had  fitted  up  one  of  the  most  tasty  of  little 
homes,  and  which,  with  the  assistance  of  the  ladies  of  Vallejo,  was  in  readi- 
ness for  her.  She  came  to  us  buoyant  Avith  bright  anticipations  of  renewed 
health  and  prolonged  life.  For  a  time  all  marked  her  elastic  step  and  cheer- 
ful smile,  but  the  discerning  eye  and  ear  of  friendship  saw  the  hectic  flush 
and  heard  the  hollow  cough.  Her  sanguine  hopes  and  cheerfulness  waned 
not  until  two  months  previous  to  her  departure,  and  then  when  told  the  opin- 
ion of  the  physicians,  she  experienced  but  a  slight  struggle,  and  bowed  in 
cheerful  submission  to  the  mandate  of  that  God  in  whom  she  had  trusted 
when  in  health.  Such  fortitude  and  patience  in  suffering,  as  she  exhibited, 
is  seldom  witnessed,  and  with  a  kind  word  to  all,  she  passed  peacefully 
through  the  dark  valley.  She  leaves  four  little  ones  to  mourn  the  loss  of  a 
mother's  love  and  care.  Oh  that  her  spirit  may  be  permitted  to  hover  round 
these  buds  of  promise,  to  guard  them  in  the  dark  hour  of  temptation. 

The  bereaved  family  are  not  alone  in  their  sorrow,  for  a  large  circle  of 
friends  mourn  the  loss  of  one  so  early  called,  so  loved  and  cherished. 

Angie  S.  Beck. 


ttttnttatjj  it  ■gii-Htn. 


Bonnets,  not  so  high  or  pointed  in  front  as  have  been  worn,  but  sufficiently 
so  to  admit  of  a  good  deal  of  trimming  on  the  top.  Neapolitans  still  fash- 
ionable, and  black  and  royal  purple  Velvet,  trimmed  with  plaitings  and  folds 

of  velvet  and  feathers,   are  much  in  vogue Cloaks,  Mantillas   and 

Sacques  will  be  worn  longer  this  winter  than  the  last,  fitting  less  to  the  form. 
. . . ."  Chemisette  Zouaves"  (a  pattern  of  which  Ave  gave  in  the  November 
number  of  the  Hesperian)  is  all  "  the  rage,"  made  of  marseilles  braided  with 

black,  or  of  silk  trimmed  with  braid  to  suit  fancy Bodies,  small  point 

behind  and  in  front,  not  much  trimmed  unless  braided Skirts  still  trim- 
med, but  not  so  much  as  last  month  ;  a  narrow  flounce  or  a  few  rows  of  braid- 
ing or  braided  pattern.  A  rich  silk  may  be  trimmed  on  body,  sleeves,  and 
around  the  skirt  with  black  lace  insertion For  Young  Misses  gray  al- 
paca trimmed  with  black  velvet  ribbon  and  buttons For  Boys  gray  cas- 

simere  for  pantaloons  and  vest — blue  navy  cloth  and  brass  buttons  for  jacket. 
Notice. — We  take  tins  opportunity  to  inform  our  lady  readers  that  the 
only  California  Branch  of  Madame  Demerest,  is  111  Montgomery 
Street,  and  not  only  is  Madame  Langraf,  who  presidesat  111,  in  constant 
receipt  of  the  newest  modes  from  Madame  Demerest,  but  is  also  receiving 
fresh  importations  direct  from  Paris.  After  leaving  Paris,  and  previous  to 
coming  to  San  Francisco,  Madame  Langraf  spent  some  time  in  Madame 
Demerest's  establishments  in  New  York  City.  The  Summary  of  Fashion 
and  ideas  of  modes  given  in  the  Hesperian,  are  received  through  Madame 
Langraf,  and  are  therefore  fresh  from  Madame  Demerest,  and  one  of  the  most 
fashionable  Emporiums  in  la  belle  City  of  Paris. 


NOTICES     OF     THE     PRESS 


The  Hesperian. — We  are  happy  to  note  the  marked  improvement  of 
this  magazine  under  the  added  editorial  supervision  of  the  Rev.  J.  D.  Strong. 
Mr.  Strong  is  a  New  School  Presbyterian  clergyman,  who  brings  with  him 
to  his  new  responsibility  thorough  culture  and  experience.  As  a  native  pro- 
duction of  California  intellectual  life,  the  Hesperian  is,  under  its  present 
auspices,  deserving  of  extensive  patronage.  We  should  add  that  it  has  of 
late  been  materially  increased  in  size.  Mrs.  E.  T.  Schenck  is  associated 
with  Mr.  Strong  in  the  editorial  department. —  The  Eoangel. 

Hesperian. — We  have  received  the  number  of  this  magazine  for  Octo- 
ber.    It  is  as  usual  filled  with  interesting;  matter. — Los  Angeles  News. 


446  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

The  Hesperian. — This  Magazine  has  passed  into  new  hands,  which, 
without  disparaging  the  abilities  of  its  former  proprietors,  we  believe  will  add 
much  to  the  interest  of  its  pages.  It  is  now  edited  by  Mrs.  E.  T.  Schenck 
and  Rev.  J.  D.  Strong.  The  November  number  contains  two  floral  illustra- 
tions and  a  beautiful  poem  from  Mrs.  Fader's  pen.  Sixteen  pages  additional 
of  reading  matter  are  furnished  in  this  number,  and  the  editors  announce  that 
they  will  continue  to  enlarge  its  proportions  as  increasing  subscriptions  will 
warrant.     Subscribe  for  it,  ladies. —  Union  Temperance  Journal. 

As  A  literary  magazine,  the  Hesperian  is  worthy  of  a  place  in  all  the  fam- 
ilies of  the  State.  We  have  inserted  in  another  column  a  poem  by  the  editor, 
which  will  repay  a  perusal. — Pacific. 

Hesperian  for  November. — Inadvertently,  we  omitted  to  acknowledge 
the  receipt  of  this  excellent  Magazine  for  November.  Under  the  new  editor- 
ial control,  it  bids  fair  to  create  a  sensation. —  Varieties. 

The  Hesperian. — A  double  number  of  this  popular  serial — for  Septem- 
ber and  October — has  reached  us.  The  selections  are  good  and  the  original 
articles  of  more  than  ordinary  merit.  Mrs.  F.  H.  Day,  whilome  editress,  has 
vacated  the  chair  for  a  trip  to  the  East.  Some  interesting  notes  of  her  jour- 
ney are  contained  in  the  number  before  us.  In  her  absence  Mrs.  E.  T. 
Schenck  will  conduct  the  Magazine — with  much  acceptance,  too,  we  may 
add,  taking  the  number  under  notice  in  evidence. — Morning  Call. 

The  Hesperian. — This  pioneer  California  monthly  has  been  laid  upon 
our  table,  and  a  hasty  examination  of  its  contents  induces  us  to  believe  it  to 
be  by  long  odds,  the  finest  Hesperian  we  have  ever  seen.  It  has  an  unusual 
amount  of  really  interesting  and  instructive  original  matter,  and  its  selections 
are  well  selected.  And  its  "  patterns"  cannot  but  please  the  ladies,  especially 
that  significant  one  which  tells  how  a  very  little  boy's  jacket  ought  to  be 
made.  Mrs.  E.  T.  Schenck,  the  editress,  announces  that  Rev.  J.  D.  Strong 
will  hereafter  be  associated  with  her  as  editor  and  proprietor,  who  is  reputed 
as  a  man  of  literary  ability,  sterling  integrity  and  persevering  industry. — 
Herald  and  Mirror. 

Hesperian. — This  California  monthly  is  before  us.  Among  the  contrib- 
utors are  W.  W.  Carpenter,  Mrs.  S.  M.  Clark,  Mrs.  F.  H.  Day,  and  Dr.  A. 
Kellogg.  These  names  are  a  sufficient  guaranty  that  this  number  does  not 
fill  behind  its  predecessors,  in  literary  interest.  There  is  also  a  beautiful 
poem  from  that  charming  writer,  Rev.  G-.  W.  Doane,  and  several  articles  from 
other  pens.  Rev.  J.  D.  Strong,  a  gentleman  whose  ripe  scholarship  and  en- 
ergy of  character  will  make  him  a  valuable  addition,  has  become  joint  proprie- 
tor and  editor. —  Butte  Record. 

The  Hesperian  for  October  is  the  best  number  we  have  noticed.  It  is  a 
veiy  marked  improvement  upon  past  numbers.  Rev.  J.  D.  Strong  is  engaged 
as  one  of  the  editors.  Under  present  control  the  Hesperian  promises  to  be- 
come worthy  of  the  patronage  of  California  ladies. —  Christian  Advocate. 

The  Hesperian. — This  valuable  monthly  magazine,  printed  in  San 
Francisco,  for  November  has  been  received  and  as  usual  filled  with  interest- 
ing matter.  It  is  under  the  control  of  Mrs.  E.  T.  Schenck  and  Rev.  J.  D. 
Strong.  The  ladies  of  Auburn  should  subscribe  for  this  work  by  all  means. 
—  Union  Advocate. 


BRIDAL     ROBE     DE     CHAMBRE 


(For  description  of  the  above,  see  Summary  of  Fashions.) 


THE     TOULON 


The  above  representation  is  one  among  the  many  beautiful  styles 
just  received  by  Madam  Langraf.  The  sleeve  is  fulled  into  a  deep, 
plain,  tight  cuff,  which  is  trimmed  at  the  top  and  at  the  hand  with 
ribbon,  box  plaited.  At  the  seam  the  sleeve  is  gathered  into  a  plain 
strip,  with  box  plaited  ribbon  as  trimming,  extending  the  length  of 
the  sleeve.  The  plain  pattern  can  be  found  at  111  Montgomery 
Street. 


^l&a 


THE  WHITE-SPURRED  LUPIN.    [Lupinus  calcartus.      Kellogg.) 
(For  description,  see  page  460.) 


^y- 


THE  BOB-TAILED  BLUE  LUPIN.    (Lvpinus  caudatus.    Kellogg.) 
(For  description,  see  page  461.^ 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


Vol.  IX.]  JANUARY,  1863.  [No.  3. 


CRATERS    OF    THE   HAWAIIAN   ISLANDS. 


No.  III.— HALEAKALA. 


BY  REV.  J.  D.  STRONG. 


Maui  was  formerly  divided  into  two  distinct  islands  by  a  shallow 
strait  eight  or  ten  miles  wide ;  but  by  gradual  upheaval,  a  process 
still  going  on  throughout  the  group,  the  bed  of  the  strait  has  emerged 
from  the  water,  and,  within  a  few  generations,  obtained  an  elevation 
of  ten  or  twelve  feet,  thus  separating  the  island  into  two  nearly  cir- 
cular parts,  called  East  and  West  Maui.  West  Maui  is  an  irregular 
pile  of  mountains,  twelve  or  fifteen  miles  in  diameter,  cleft  by  deep 
gorges,  rugged  and  inaccessible,  and  terminating  in  a  grand  and  beau- 
tiful peak  six  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  East  Maui 
consists  of  but  a  single  mountain,  thirty-five  miles  or  more  in  diam- 
eter and  ten  thousand  feet  or  two  miles  high,  and,  in  appearance,  like 
an  immense  dome  or  section  of  a  sphere  floating  in  the  ocean,  smooth, 
regular  and  majestic  in  sublime  repose,  as  if  conscious  of  hiding  fires 
which,  in  action,  might  terrify  a  world.  On  its  summit  is  Hale-a- 
Tcala,  "  The  House  of  the  Sun,"  or  "  The  House  built  by  the  Sun," 
the  largest  extinct  volcano  on  this  planet,  and  so  capacious  that  half 
of  the  continental  craters  of  the  world,  placed  side  by  side,  would 
not  fill  its  black  and  frowning  bosom.  The  object  of  this  article  is 
to  describe  a  visit  down  into  this  grand  old  seat  of  primeval  fires, 
made  by  the  writer,  in  company  with  one  who  is  the  first  and  only 
white  female  couragous  or  foolhardy  enough  to  attempt  it,  for  it  is 
a  feat  both  difficult  and  dangerous,  and  to  be  accomplished  only  at 
the  sacrifice  of  petticoats  and  crinoline,  and  by  submitting  to  the 
penalty  of  "  Bloomers  "  and  a  Spanish  saddle. 

Our  journey,  shall  commence  from  Kahului,  a  small  port  of  entry 
and  fishing  village  on  the  northern  extremity  of  the  sandy  isthmus, 


452  THE    HESPERIAN. 

noted,  however,  for  having  been  twice  swept  away  —  a  few  years 
since  by  a  tidal  wave,  and  more  recently  by  the  bursting  of  a  water 
spout.  For  the  first  four  miles  the  way  lies  over  a  smooth,  sandy 
plain  ;  then,  gradually  rising,  it  stretches  away  up  to  a  broad  table 
land,  which  lies  for  thirty  miles  along  the  western  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, at  an  elevation  of  from  two  to  three  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea.  Here  is  MaJcawao,  the  seat  of  the  Mission  Station  and  of  many 
wheat  fields  and  several  sugar  plantations ;  a  region  of  the  finest 
soil  on  the  islands,  well  watered  by  frequent  showers,  and  green  all 
the  year  with  herbage  of  tropical  luxuriance ;  shaded  by  splendid 
groves  of  Hawaiian  mahogany  ;  elevated  above  the  damp  air  of  the 
sea  and  sheltered  from  the  fierce  blasts  of  the  trade  winds  by  the 
lofty  dome  in  its  rear;  equable  in  climate  —  being  neither  cold  nor 
hot,  but  balmy  as  the  breath  of  an  eternal  spring ;  abounding  in  all 
the  luscious  fruits,  both  of  the  temperate  and  torrid  zones,  and  offer- 
ing to  the  pilgrim,  weary  of  the  toil  and  din  of  earth,  a  home  that 
rivals  the  Eden  of  the  first  human  pair.  Consumptives  who  seek 
this  genial  retreat  seldom  fail  to  prolong  a  life  which,  in  the  warm 
damp  air  near  the  sea,  might  fly  "  swifter  than  a  weaver's  shuttle." 
After  a  few  days  of  rest  and  enjoyment  in  this  paradise  of  phy- 
sical delights,  which  still  haunt  my  waking  and  sleeping  dreams,  and 
seem  to  be  fit  to  adorn  "  the  home  of  the  gods,"  we  started  from  the 
Mission  Station  on  an  expedition  seldom  before  attempted  by  white 
men.  Our  outfit  consisted  of  a  pocket  compass,  two  pairs  of  blan- 
kets, a  coffee  pot,  two  live  turkeys,  a  bag  of  bread,  a  bottle  of  water, 
two  wrong-headed,  tough-sided  mules  with  Spanish  saddles,  and  a 
crafty  old  "  bird-catcher  "  for  a  guide,  whose  eye  and  face  were  too 
expressive  of  innocence  to  win  the  entire  confidence  of  one  skilled 
in  human  nature.  Thus  equipped,  wTe  intended  the  first  day  to 
climb  up  the  fifteen  miles  of  ascent  between  the  Mission  and  the 
summit ;  spend  the  night  in  a  cave  on  the  brink  of  the  giddy  abyss ; 
the  next  day  go  down  into  its  depths  and  sleep  the  second  night  in 
a  large  cavern  at  the  bottom,  in  which  was  said  to  be  a  living  foun- 
tain of  delicious  water ;  and  the  third  day  pass  on  down  through 
the  crater  to  the  point  where  it  opens  out  to  the  sea,  on  the  eastern 
side  of  the  island.  As  we  ascended,  the  vegetation  became  less  and 
the  trees  smaller,  till,  at  an  elevation  of  about  eight  thousand  feet, 
only  an  occasional  stunted  bush,  a  kind  of  coarse  grass,  and  a  single 
species  of  the  Silver  Sword  remained  to  remind  us  of  the  tropical 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  453 

luxuriance  we  had  left  but  a  few  hours  before.     At  an  elevation  of 
six  thousand  feet  we  found  immense  fields  of  strawberries,  extending 
for  miles  along  the  mountain  side,  but  apparently  of  a  different  spe- 
cies from  those  found  in  the  wilds  of  America,  the  fruit  being  broader 
at  the  base,  peaked  and  seedy,  and  of  a  less  luscious  taste.     As  we 
ascended,  the  air  grew  cooler  and  more  transparent,  sound  became 
less,  and  our  faces  and  limbs  felt  a  swollen  and  clumsy  sensation,  as 
if  the  flesh  was  about  to  break  through  the  skin,  or  drop  from  our 
bones  ;  but  we  experienced  none  of  that  shortness  of  breath  some- 
times complained  of  in  these  high  altitudes,  except  when  in  rapid 
motion  on  foot,  or  in  other  violent  exercise.     Half  an  hour  before 
reaching  the  summit  we  entered  a  cloud  so  dense  that  eye-sight 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  its  murky  folds,  and  words  stuck  in  it  as 
in  an  atmosphere  of  pitch.     Feeling  our  way  on  slowly  over  the 
rough  and  winding  trail,  we  suddenly  came  to  a  chasm  between  two 
high  walls  of  rock,  through  which  the  dank  cloud  poured,  blinding 
and  drenching  us,  and  making  our  flesh   shiver  to  our  very  bones. 
The  guide  assured  us  that  this  was  the  pass  into  the  crater,  and  that 
rock,  exposed  to  the  dripping  vapor  driven  by  the  fierce  winds,  was 
to  be  our  shelter  for  the  night.     Our  pocket  compass  said  we  were 
on  the  north  side  of  the  mountain,  at  the  "  King's  Pass,"  which  is 
easy  of  access  and  descent,  and  not  on  the  western   side,  where  are 
the  summit  and  cave  to  which  the  crafty  old  "  bird  catcher"  had 
engaged  to  conduct  us.     He  protested,  with  long  and  solemn  visage, 
and  by  all  the  attributes  of  Pele,  that  we  were  then  on  the  summit; 
that  that  was  the  only  cave  on  the  mountain,  and  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  ascend   to  any  higher  point,  as  there  was  none ;  and 
that  if  we  were  disappointed  with  the  appearances  of  things  he  was 
deeply  afflicted.     A  hint  that  he  would  receive  but  half  pay,  unless 
he  fulfilled  the  contract  as  originally  made,  seemed  to  open  his  eyes 
wonderfully  to  the  fact  that  we  were  not  "  green  foreigners,"  and 
sent  him  to  resaddling  our  animals  with  a  speed  of  which  a  Hawaiian 
is  very  rarely  guilty.     We  then  commenced  the  ascent  toward  the 
south,  toiling  up  steep  precipices  through  the  cloud,  searching  our 
way  over  piles  of  sand,  across  broken  chasms  and  among  huge  frag- 
ments of   rock,   occasionally  dismounting   and  leading  our  mules 
where  we  feared  to  ride,  and  all  the  way  shaking  like  leaves  in  a 
storm,  and  half  doubting  if  we  had  not  forced  the  old  honest-faced 
kanaka  to  a  desperate  attempt  which  we  should  yet  repent.     An 


454  The  Hesperian. 

hour's  travel,  however,  brought  us  to  a  rocky  pinnacle  of  the  moun- 
tain that  jutted  above  the  clouds,  under  the  shelving  sides  of  which 
•we  found  a  dry  and  comfortable  shelter  from  the  drenching  mist  and 
wind. 

Before  reaching  our  camping  ground,  or  rock  I  should  say,  we 
had  caught  several  glimpses  of  the  abyss  below,  and  we  hastened  to 
the  highest  peak  to  get  a  good  view.  The  crater  was  filled  with 
clouds  so  dense  that  no  object  could  be  seen  in  it  three  feet ;  and  the 
cold  wind  whistled  up,  piercing  our  clothing  through,  and  making 
our  frames,  which  had  not  experienced  a  chill  before  for  three  years, 
shake  as  though  amid  polar  snows.  Soon  the  cloud  settled  a  little, 
but  only  a  portion  of  the  pit  could  be  seen.  It  was  not  crater  form, 
like  most  others,  but  simply  an  immense  crack  three  or  four  miles 
wide,  twenty-eight  hundred  feet,  or  more  than  half  a  mile  deep,  and 
in  shape  like  a  carpenter's  iron  square,  commencing  on  the, east  side 
of  the  island  at  Kaupo,  and  running  west  nearly  twenty  miles,  then 
turning  at  right  angles  and  running  ten  miles  to  the  north  side  of  the 
island.  Its  width  is  uniform,  side  answering  to  side,  as  most  Hawai- 
ian chasms  do,  thus  showing  that  the  mountain  had  been  rent  asun- 
der by  some  convulsion  of  nature,  and  the  chasm  widened  out  by 
gradual  upheaval.  Our  point  of  observation  was  near  the  elbow  ; 
and  as  we  watched  the  dense  folds  of  cloudy  vapor  flying  past  us, 
suddenly  the  whole  broke,  and,  with  a  majestic  sweep  which  seemed 
the  very  poetry  of  motion,  rolled  up  the  sides  of  the  rocky  rampart, 
disclosing  at  our  feet  a  yawning  gulf,  so  terrible  in  the  grandeur  of 
its  size,  that  e}7es  involuntarily  closed,  and  brain  reeled,  oppressed 
with  a  wildering  sense  of  vacuity  and  helplessness,  as  if  under  the 
influence  of  nightmare.  Immediately  the  clouds  swept  in  again 
through  the  pass  from  the  north,  and  in  five  minutes  the  crater  was 
full ;  when,  lifting,  they  shot  up  and  fled  away  as  before.  This  was 
repeated  at  intervals  of  a  few  minutes  till  dark. 

After  reconnoitering  as  fully  as  the  clouds  would  permit,  we  ex- 
amined the  place  which  was  to  afford  us  shelter.  It  was  a  shallow 
recess,  perhaps  twenty  feet  by  ten,  under  a  shelving  rock,  opening 
out  to  the  south,  and  affording  a  tolerable  protection  from  the  winds 
and  clouds.  Before  it  our  guide  had  lighted  a  roaring  fire  of  fagots 
gathered  farther  down  the  mountain  and  was  roasting  on  the  embers 
one  of  the  turkeys  which  had  been  jolted  to  death  on  the  journey  up. 
It  was  now  growing  dark,  and  at  supper  it  was  impossible  to  distin- 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  455 

guish  the  adlieriug  ashes  and  coals  fiom  the  food  ;  so  we  feasted  with 
keen  appetites,  believing  that  our  ideas  of  cleanliness  are  only  con- 
ventional, and  that  all  things  are  clean  to  those  who  think  so,  and 
pronouncing  it  to  be  the  most  delicious  turkey  we  had  ever  eaten ; 
but  in  the  morning,  truth  compels  me  to  add,  wThen  daylight  revealed 
the  character  of  our  evening's  repast,  well  seasoned  with  cinders  and 
ashes,  our  stomachs  refused  to  endorse  our  philosophy,  and  we  threw 
the  remainder  into  the  crater  as  a  peace-offering  to  Pele. 

Supper  ended,  we  gipseyed  around  the  fire  for  an  hour  or  so, 
peering  through  the  darkness  into  the  giddy  depths  below,  and,  in 
imagination,  peopling  the  strange  scene  with  our  fears  and  fancies. 
After  a  half  hour's  doze  our  beds  proved  too  cold  and  uncomfortable 
for  sleep.  Now  and  then  a  gust  of  fierce  wind,  in  heartless  sport, 
would  whirl  over  the  top  of  our  rock  house  and  into  our  bed-cham- 
ber, driving  a  dripping  cloud  into  our  faces,  and  wrapping  our  quiv- 
ering flesh  as  in  folds  of  ice.  During  those  long  hours  of  darkness 
and  cold,  it  was  no  agreeable  reflection,  that  an  earthquake,  many 
evidences  of  which  we  had  seen  on  our  way,  might  send  the  pile  of 
old  lava,  now  frowning  but  two  feet  above  our  heads,  tumbling  down 
on  us ;  or  that  a  slight  shaking  of  the  rocky  pinnacle  on  which  we 
lay  but  a  few  feet  from  an  abyss  half  a  mile  in  depth,  might  whirl  us 
and  our  nomadic  home  down  the  dizzy  descent. 

Two  hours  before  sunrise  the  grateful  twilight  began  to  glimmer 
in  the  east,  and  we  went  forth,  but  soon  returned  with  heavy  hearts, 
for  the  black  and  scowling  sky  gave  promise  of  a  rainy  day,  and  made 
us  fear  that  we,  like  many  others,  must  go  down  without  having  had 
a  good  view  of  the  crater.  Having  breakfasted  in  the  dank  folds  of 
a  cloud,  while  we  were  sitting  in  no  very  amiable  mood  around 
the  fire,  the  black  and  frowning  masses  that  hung  like  a  pall  of  death 
over  the  depths  slowly  rolled  themselves  up  and  fled  away,  as  once 
fled  the  cloud  that  enveloped  "  the  pious  iEneas."  After  repeating 
this,  over  and  over  again  in  quick  succession,  for  an  hour  or  more, 
the  clouds  settled  half-way  down  the  mountain,  leaving  the  crater 
bare. 

The  portion  of  it  visible  from  our  point  of  view  was  somewhat 
triangular,  but  not  more  than  six  or  seven  miles  in  extent.  The 
bottom  was  covered  with  old  lava,  black  and  undecayed,  although  at 
least  a  hundred  years  old.  The  crater's  last  action  —  of  which 
tradition,   however,  makes  no  mention  —  was  the  throwing  up  of 


456 


THE    HESPERIAN. 


immense  quantities  of  volcanic  sand,  now  lying  in  heaps  that  seem, 
as  seen  in  the  distance  from  above,  like  insignificant  ant  hills,  with 
little  funnels  in  their  tops ;  but  on  descending  into  the  crater  and 
climbing  up  their  sides,  we  found  these  eighteen  cones,  some  of  sand, 
and  others  of  scoriae,  cinders  and  lava,  varying  from  three  hundred 
to  six  hundred  feet  in  hight,  and  each  terminating  in  a  crater  as 
large  as  Vesuvius.  The  thirteen  seen  from  the  top  are  all  of  sand 
and  situated  near  the  elbow  of  the  crater,  while  those  farther  to  the 
east  are  made  up  of  scoriae  and  partially  decomposed  lava,  covered  with 
bushes  which  give  to  the  desolate  scene  a  green  and  cheerful  aspect, 
such  as  hope  gives  to  a  blasted  life. 

The  scene  around  us  now  became  grand  as  imagination  ever  pic- 
tured in  dreams.  The  clouds  had  settled  down  and  were  brooding 
in  black  and  sullen  folds  for  hundreds  of  miles  in  all  directions  over 
the  ocean,  and  as  the  strong  wind  swept  among  them,  a  mile  below 
us,  they  assumed  all  shapes,  rolling  and  plunging  with  a  fury  at 
once  terrific  and-  sublime.  At  length  a  little  bright  point,  tinged 
with  brilliant  hues,  appeared  far  away  in  the  distance;  and  presently 
the  sun,  bursting  through  suddenly,  arose  from  a  cloudy  bed  of 
golden  glory,  that  lay  stretched  out  as  far  as  vision  could  penetrate, 
tinging  the  tops  of  those  majestic  cloud-forms  with  such  brilliant 
tints  as  make  the  beholder  forever  feel  the  poverty  of  colors.  The 
rolling  masses  of  cloud,  having  thus  taken  on  all  the  hues  of  the 
rainbow  in  every  direction  over  the  field  of  vision  and  flashing  and 
glowing  in  inconceivable  splendor,  presented  a  scene  of  sublimity 
which  no  language,  though  vivid  as  the  lightning,  can  describe. 

As  the  sun  arose  higher  in  the  heavens,  this  immense  amphithe- 
atre of  brilliant  hues  began  to  break  up  and  roll  away,  rendering 
visible  the  other  islands,  that  seemed,  at  this  elevation,  like  little 
points  of  rock  amid  the  wide  waste  of  waters.  First  Mauua  Loa, 
and  then  Mauna  Kea,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away  to  the  south 
on  Hawaii,  with  their  white  caps  of  eternal  snow,  appeared  like 
silver  points  amid  a  sea  of  glory.  On  the  west  the  eye  pierced 
downward  thirty  miles  to  the  sandy  isthmus,  and  then  up  to  West 
Maui,  still  hiding  its  woody  head  among  the  clouds.  To  the  right, 
a  wide  expanse  of  ocean  stretched  away  till  it  mingled  its  dim  out- 
lines with  the  sky.  Beyond  Maui,  peering  out  from  the  clouds, 
Molokai  was  seen,  with  its  white  fringe  of  foaming  breakers ;  on  the 
left  were  Lanai  and  Kahoolawe ;  while  far  away,  a  hundred  miles  or 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  457 

more  to  the   north-west,  lay  Oahu  under  a  cloudy   canopy,    like 
dreamland  amid  a  sea  of  visions. 

Having  feasted,  but  not  satisfied,  our  eyes  with  the  beautiful 
scene,  we  prepared  to  resume  our  journey.  Instead  of  returning  to 
the  pass,  our  guide  proposed  to  take  us  to  a  point  around  the  elbow 
of  the  crater,  and  then  down  into  its  depths  over  a  bank  of  coarse 
volcanic  sand,  which  reached  from  the  summit  to  the  bottom,  thus 
forming  an  incline-plane,  two  miles  or  more  in  length,  and  as  steep 
as  sand,  made  up  of  particles  as  large  as  bullets,  could  be  made  to 
lie.  This  route,  he  assured  us,  had  never  before  been  explored  by 
white  men,  and  our  subsequent  inquiries  failed  to  convict  him  of 
falsehood.  Our  way,  like  that  of  the  evening  before,  was  rough 
and  difficult,  but  over  larger  heaps  of  sand,  which  had  been  ejected 
from  this  part  of  the  crater  and  lay  in  large  quantities  for  miles  up 
and  down  the  mountain.  For  two  or  three  miles  before  reaching 
the  place  of  descent  we  found  fragments  of  a  very  hard  gray  rock, 
unlike  any  we  had  seen  before  on  the  islands,  fresh  and  unweather- 
stained,  lying  thick  along  our  path,  and.  in  one  place  forming  an 
immense  pile  on  the  side  of  the  crater,  and  reaching  from  the  bot- 
tom two  or  three  hundred  feet  above  the  summit,  where  the  larger 
pieces  were  laid  up  in  walls  around  circular  cells  eight  or  ten  feet  in 
diameter,  giving  to  the  hill  the  appearance  of  a  honey-comb.  Who 
piled  them  up,  when,  or  for  what  purpose,  our  guide  could  not 
or  would  not  enlighten  us.  Probably  they  have  some  connection 
with  the  Hawaiian  superstitions  of  former  days. 

After  traveling  along  the  brink  of  the  abyss  ten  miles  or  so, 
including  the  distance  passed  over  the  night  before,  we  reached  the 
place  of  descent  at  the  south-west  angle  of  the  crater.  As  we  went 
down  our  animals  sunk  at  every  step  up  to  their  knees  in  the  loose 
sand,  -the  way  being  so  steep  that  the  particles  of  it  disturbed  by 
their  feet  would  run  on  for  rods  before  us,  while  it  seemed  impossi- 
ble to  keep  the  mules  from  turning  a  somersault  and  rolling  end  over 
end  down  to  the  bottom.  Thus  .on  we  went,  down,  down,  down, 
for  a  whole  hour,  as  fast  as  whip  and  spurs  could  urge  our  cautious 
and  mild-tempered  beasts,  till  it  seemed  as  though  we  should  never  reach 
the  floor  of  the  crater.  At  last,  however,  we  found  ourselves  among 
the  sand-hills,  after  a  careful  examination  of  which  —  having  climbed 
to  the  tops  of  several  and  looked  down  into  their  funnel-like  throats 
—  we  turned  toward  the  east  and  rode  four  or  five  miles  with  the 


458  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

south  wall  of  the  crater  frowning  directly  above  our  heads.  The 
lava  streams  which  cropped  out  from  the  beds  of  sand  in  this 
locality  seemed  to  be  comparatively  fresh  and  undecayed.  Here, 
too,  we  found  one  ohelo  bush  and  many  plants  of  the  Silver  Sword 
— the  statements  of  Commodore  Wilkes  and  others  who,  like  him, 
have  attempted  to  describe  what  they  never  explored,  to  the  con- 
trary notwithstanding.  The  width  of  the  crater  is  here  four  or  five 
miles.  The  cave  which  we  had  resolved  to  make  our  home  the 
second  night  was  half  way  across  it,  and  toward  that  we  now  shaped 
our  course.  Our  guide  hurried  on  before  us,  and  having  disappeared 
a  few  minutes  beneath  the  surface,  reappeared  with  a  disappointed 
and  gloomy  look,  exclaiming  :  "Aoli  wai ;  auwe  !  pililcia  nuiP''  which, 
in  the  best  English  I  can  put  it,  is:  "  No  water;  alas!  we  are  in  a 
pickle!"  I  crawled  down  through  a  little  aperture  made  by  the 
falling-in  of  a  piece  of  the  roof  of  an  old  lava  flow,  into  a  cavern 
perhaps  twenty  feet  square,  and  carefully  searched,  but  found  no 
water.  As  our  stupid  or  crafty  old  "  bird-catcher  "  had  broken  our 
water  container  the  day  before,  we  had  now  been  without  drink  for 
twenty-four  hours,  and  were  almost  burning  up  with  thirst,  so  that 
I  was  compelled  to  yield  to  the  entreaties  of  my  suffering  companion 
and  proceed  on  our  journey  without  having  fully  explored  the  won- 
ders of  this  grand  old  work-shop  of  Pele.  We  afterwards  learned 
that  there  is  always  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  delicious  water  in  the 
cave,  but  it  must  be  dipped  up  through  a  little  aperture  in  the  rock, 
which  the  natives  keep  covered  wTith  a  stone.  Our  guide  had  hast- 
ened on,  slaked  his  own  thirst,  and,  as  he  was  to  receive  a  stipulated 
sum  for  the  journey,  deceived  us  to  shorten  the  time  a  day. 

Passing  over,  we  now  journeyed  on,  close  under  the  crater's 
northern  wall,  terrific  in  its  grandeur,  and  apparently  piercing  the 
highest  heavens.  For  three  or  four  miles  after  leaving  the  cayern, 
the  lava  floor  was  level  and  the  trail  not  difficult.  Then  it  began  to 
descend  gradually  toward  the  sea,  and'  there  our  trials  commenced, 
for  Pilgrim's  experience  at  the  Hill  of  Difficulty,  or  Tasso's  in 
Inferno,  are  nothing  in  comparison.  In  many  places,  high  up  on 
the  frowning  walls  that  hung  above  our  heads,  lava  streams  had 
burst  out  ages  ago  and  run  down  and  cooled  into  immense  rivers  of 
rock.  These  streams  were  nearly  level  on  top,  and  as  the  floor  of 
the  crater  descended  they  soon  became  elevated,  sometimes  hun- 
dreds of  feet.     Several  times  the  trail  led  over  these  lofty  ridges  and 


Craters  of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  459 

may  be  appropriately  pronounced  horribly  rough.  In  some  instances 
the  lava  was  of  the  species  called  by  the  natives  "aa" — hard,  angu- 
lar, sharp,  and  in  formation  like  clinkers  from  a  blacksmith's  forge. 
We  were  now  constantly  passing  up  and  down  ridges  and  chasms  in 
these  irregular  fields  of  rock,  some  of  them  having  an  altitude  or 
depth  of  hundreds  of  feet.  Occasionally  our  mules  must  jump  down 
a  bench  of  rock  higher  than  their  backs  and  land  on  a  narrow  foot- 
path, where  a  false  step  would  plunge  them  down  a  dizzy  depth. 
These  streams  of  lava  narrowed  as  they  flowed,  till  they  became 
sharp  ridges  scarcely  a  foot  or  two  wide  on  top  and  elevated  several 
hundreds  of  feet,  with  sides  steeper  than  the  steepest  roof  on  a  gothic 
cottage.  As  we  passed  along,  high  in  air,  on  the  tops  of  these  lofty 
ridges,  on  either  hand  looking  down  a  giddy  declivity  of  black  and 
jagged  shapes,  with  not  even  a  green  leaf  to  cheer  the  desolate  scene, 
the  reader,  perhaps,  can  form  some  idea  of  the  novelty  and  danger 
of  our  situation. 

Near  the  end  of  our  journey  we  passed  some  distance  under  the 
shadow  of  a  lofty  mountain,  whose  perpendicular  cliffs  and  peaks, 
capped  with  clouds,  hung  at  least  a  mile  directly  above  our  heads. 
Now  and  then  wild  and  beautiful  glens,  densely  wooded,  wound 
away  among  its  ridges,  their  lofty  walls  almost  perpendicular,  their 
tops  seeming  to  open  out  into  the  very  heavens,  their  bottoms  nar- 
rowing down  to  a  point,  covered  with  majestic  trees  and  ringing 
with  the  music  of  mountain  torrents  that  dashed  over  the  precipices 
and  rushed  along  their  rocky  beds  as  if  impatient  to  mingle  their 
waters  with  the  ocean.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  birds,  so  rare  in 
other  parts  of  the  islands,  have  made  these  solitudes  their  home,  and 
the  music  of  their  morning  and  evening  anthem  echoing  from  cliff 
to  cliff  calls  vividly  back  to  the  pilgrim  from  other  lands  the  glorious 
memories  of  his  childhood. 

Having  ridden  in  one  direction  in  the  crater  fifteen  miles  in 
nine  hours,  we  came  to  that  point  wThere  the  two  walls  of  rock  on 
our  right  and  left  approached  each  other,  forming  a  gateway  out  to 
the  sea.  Here  our  journey  through  the  largest  crater  of  the  world 
was  accomplished  ;  and  here,  too,  this  sketch  of  a  feat  but  seldom 
attempted  by  white  men  and  never  before  by  a  woman,  already  too 
long,  yet  imperfect  from  brevity,  must  end. 


THE     WHITE     SPURRED     LUPIN. 

[Lupinus  calcartus.     [Kellogg.]) 


BY  DR.  A.  KELLOGG. 


We  invite  the  attention  of  our  readers  to  a  remarkable  species  of 
Lupin  recently  introduced  from  Nevada  Territory  by  Mr.  Herbert  C. 
Dorr.  ' 

This  family  constitutes  one  of  the  most  varied  and  beautiful  fea- 
tures of  our  Pacific  Flora. 

Could  we  truly  read  the  language  of  the  great  God  in  the  won- 
derful volume  of  Nature,  it  would  disclose  to  us  many  marvelous  re- 
lations in  the  exact  adaptations  of  every  product  of  the  soil  to  its  re- 
quirements; and  all  to  the  uses  of  man. 

Alas  !  we  are  blind  indeed,  and  have  need  to  repeat,  in  the  high- 
est sense,  the  invocation  of  the  great  classic  poet — 
"  What  in  ^^s  is  dark,  do  Thou  illume." 

In  all  divine  works  there  is  an  art  for  every  eye  ;  and  we  presume 
no  person  ever  beheld  one  of  these  plants  without  in  some  degree  ad- 
miring its  radiated  and  very  graceful  foliage.  Witness  the  plant  be- 
fore us — observe  the  rayed  leaflets,  arched  upwards,  and  thence  out- 
ward, and  say  if  they  do  not  express  grace ;  and  more — is  there  not 
also  a  light  and  airy  toss,  a  very  flourish  of  elation  and  joy  !  Tremb- 
lingly alive  to  the  soothing  breeze,  our  eyes  never  weary  with 
watching  the  motions  of  these  tiny  leaflets.  Mark  the  modest,  ten- 
der leaf,  half  expanding  beneath  the  rising  day ;  then  open  handed, 
responsive  to  the  smiles  kind  heaven  sends,  frank  and  frolicsome 
with  the  sunny  hours ;  anon  gently  closiug  at  dewy  eve,  and  as  the 
gloomy  shades  come  down  to  our  repose,  and  we  sleep,  so  do  they. 

Many  of  these  plants  are  clad  in  velvet,  silk,  or  silvery  satin,  and 
canopied  with  flowers  of  heaven's  own  blue — often  crowned  with 
gold  or  royal  purple,  or,  as  in  the  subject  before  us,  adorned  as  a  bride. 
"  If  God  so  clothe  the  fields,  how  much  more  you,  O  ye  of  little  faith." 

Lupins  are  cultivated  to  some  extent  in  Europe,  Asia  and  Africa 
as  a  coarse  food  or  fodder.  Dr.  F.  Unger  remarks  :  "  Lupins  grow 
wild  throughout  the  whole  Mediteranean  region,  and  L.  hursutus  alone 
was  cultivated  by  the  Greeks,  and  serves  now  in  that  country  as  food 


The  Bob-tailed  Blue  Lupin.  461 

for  cattle  and  the  poorer  classes  of  people,  as  it  did  for  the  Cynics. 
The  Mainiots  make  use  of  it  for  food  at  the  present  day,  and  bake  a 
bread  from  it,  for  which  reason  they  are  called  Lupinophagi.  L.  al- 
bus  and  L  termis — both  Mediteranean  plants — are  still  cultivated  in 
Italy.  The  former  also  in  Sicily,  Thrace  and  southern  Russia ;  the 
latter  in  Sardinia,  Corsica  and  Sicily,  etc.  They  are,  however,  used 
almost  exclusively  as  food  for  cattle.  The  tennis,  when  cooked  in  salt 
.water  and  shelled,  are  eaten  in  Egypt." 

Many  of  our  native  species  furnish  food  for  the  Indians.  The  root 
of  one  species  is  a  favorite  article  of  diet  among  the  western  tribes. 
In  Europe  the  white  lupins  are  sometimes  sown  on  fallow  ground  or 
vineyards,  and  plowed  in  as  a  manure  when  about  a  foot  high. 

Technical  description. — Stem  erect,  eight  to  ten  inches  high,  some- 
what appressed,  silky-pubescent  throughout ;  leaflets  seven  to  ten, 
sickle-shaped,  channeled,  lance-linear,  acute,  mucronate,  base  nar- 
rowed, half  as  long  as  the  leaf-stem,  although  the  upper  are  nearly 
e^ual.  Stipules  awl-shaped,  acuminate,  pointed,  persistent.  Flow- 
ers white,  arranged  alternately  in  a  rather  close  raceme  ;  the  calyx 
silky  villous,  with  a  remarkable  spur  at  the  base,  and  with  the 
upper  two-toothed  lip  is  also  colored  white ;  minutely  braeteo- 
late  at  the  cleft — the  lower  lip  long,  boat-shaped,  sharp  and  entire ; 
pale  green  inclining  to  white.  The  Figure  also  represents  the  round- 
ish banner  wTith  a  long  reflected  claw,  pubescent  on  the  back — wings 
oblong,  externally  puberulent  towards  the  apex — keel  cilliate — stig- 
ma naked — pods  hairy,  four-seeded. 


THE     BOB-TAILED     BLUE     LUPIN. 

(Lupimis  caudatus.     [Kellogg.]) 


BY    DR.  A.    KELLOGG. 


We  are  under  obligations  to  Mr.  Herbert  C.  Dorr,  for  these  newly 
discovered  Lupins  from  Nevada  Territory. 

As  they  are  closely  allied,  the  relations  and  distinctions  wrill 
appear  more  manifest  by  illustrating  them  together. 

About  the  same  in  hight,  both  are  spurred ;  each  has  a  naked 


462  THE    HESPERIAN. 

stigma,  contrary  to  the  generic  description  of  the  Lupins.  The 
most  palpable  difference  to  the  popular  eye,  however,  is  seen  in  the 
color  of  the  flowers.  By  a  little  closer  observation,  it  will  be  seen 
that  the  number  of  leaflets  in  this  is  five  to  seven,  instead  of  seven 
to  ten,  also  the  radiating  direction  being  straight.  To  the  eye  of 
the  observer,  in  the  growing  state,  or  one  familiar  with  the  speci- 
mens themselves,  the  silvery-satiny  appearance  of  this  species  is 
quite  characteristic. 

The  White  Spurred  and  Bob-tailed  Blue,  in  their  suggestive 
aspect,  are  also  peculiar ;  the  former  reminds  one  of  the  curt  cock 
of  a  nun's  bonnet ;  the  latter  of  the  old  familiar  song 

"  His  hair  was  somewhat  inclined  to  gray  ; 
He  wore  it  in  a  queue." 

Technical  Description. — Stem  ascending,  silvery-satiny,  appressed, 
pubescent  throughout ;  eight  to  ten  inches  high.  Leaflets  five  to 
seven,  linear-lanceolate,  acute,  mucronate,  straight,  base  narrowed, 
about  as  long  as  the  leaf-stem  ;  stipules  permanent,  awl-pointed. 
Flowers  blue,  scattered  and  sub-whorled ;  floral  portion  of  the 
raceme  about  twice  as  long  as  its  stem,  or  two  or  three  times  as 
long  as  the  leaf-stems ;  bracts  falling  off,  twice  as  long  as  the 
flower-stemlets  ;  calyx  tubular-bell-shaped  ;  upper  lip  straight,  two- 
toothed,  not  colored,  spurred  base  obtusely  short,  erect,  subulate, 
half  the  length  of  the  pedicel ;  lower  lip  long,  entire  ;  linear  bracts, 
at  the  cleft  conspicuous.  Banner  satiny  pubescent  on  the  back, 
chiefly  along  the  middle  portion ;  wings  with  an  erect  claw ;  keel 
silky  eye-lashed  ;  stigma  naked  ;  pods  linear,  silky,  seeded.  Found 
in  the  same  localities  as  the  former,  but  more  rare. 


A  Truly  religious  man  will,  in  temporal  things,  have  eternal  motives; 
he  will  convert  into  interior  worship  his  necessary  occupations,  and 
will,  under  the  painfulness  of  some  of  them,  render  them  pleasant 
from  a  principle  of  obedieuce  and  love  to  God.  Like  Daniel,  though 
set  over  the  provinces  of  Babylon,  he  will  remember  that  Jerusalem 
is  his  country. 


The  Pagans  formed  their  gods  to  the  likeness  of  men.     The  Christn 
religion  forms  man  to  the  likeness  of  God. 


THE     BURIAL    OF    JESUS 


BY    FANNY    GREEN    M'dOUGAL. 


Night,  night  o'er  Palestine.     Jerusalem, 
Yet  conscious  of  the  terrors  of  the  day, 
Leaned  on  her  trembling  hills,  and  sought  repose. 
The  murderer,  whose  blood-encrusted  hands 
Are  crimson  with  the  crime  of  yesterday, — 
Grasping  in  sleep  the  instrument  of  death, 
To  war  with  spectres, — such  repose  may  know. 
There  was  a  death-like  stillness,  without  voice 
Of  wind  or  stream,  or  leafy  stir  of  woods, 
Or  note  of  bird,  or  vital  breath  of  flower, — 
A  hush  intense,  as  earth,  herself,  were  dead  ; 
And  the  pale  moon,  so  sorrowfully  fair, 
Struggling  through  cloud  and  darkness,  still  kept  watch, 
A  stricken  mourner,  bending  o'er  the  corse  : 
Then  valley,  city,  mountain,  stream  and  wood, 
All  that  was  wrapped  within  that  murky  veil 
Of  strange,  unnatural  darkness,  heaved  and  quaked, 
By  some  galvanic  power  to  motion  driven. 

Advancing  prematurely,  his  black  car 
Midnight  had  driven  o'er  the  track  of  day, 
His  sable  urn  engrossing  all  the  light, 
He  bore  away  a  trophy  and  a  spoil. 
The  veteran,  with  sudden  palsy  seized, 
Lebanon  shook  upon  his  rock-girt  throne  ; 
Carmel  and  Sharon,  with  their  roseate  crowns, 
Wept  in  the  litter  darkness.     Kedron  shrunk 
From  the  wild  horrors  of  Jehoshaphat ; 
And  fair  Bethesda's  fountain  troubled  lay, 
Although  no  angel  stirred  the  limpid  wave  ; 
And  the  still  waters  of  Genesareth, 
While  not  a  wind  was  breathing,  woke  and  boiled. 
Through  all  those  hilly  borders  the  fair  fruits 
Of  orange,  fig,  and  date  tree,  shaken  down, 
Untimely  scattered,  lay.     The  lovely  mount, 
With  its  fair  crown  of  olives,  where  the  Lord 
Had  wandered  morn  and  evening,  sable-clad, 
2 


464  THE    HESPERIAN. 

Mourned  for  the  Presence  that  would  come  no  more. 
Shivering  within  his  banks,  Jordan  rolled  on, 
As  if  he  would  escape  the  meteors  dire 
That  shot  their  lurid  fires  from  cloud  to  cloud. 
Such  was  the  night  when  faithful  Joseph  went 
To  lay  his  Lord  for  burial.       *       *       * 

Pilate  alone.     Purple,  or  jeweled  robe, 
Shone  not  beneath  the  gorgeous  candelabra  ; 
But  a  coarse  garment  wrapped  his  heaving  chest ; 
Ashes  were  in  his  hair ;  his  head  was  low  ; 
And  the  pale  taper  light  but  just  revealed 
The  conflict  of  his  fearful  ponderings. 
Unheard,  unnoticed,  the  disciple  stood 
Silent  some  time  before  him.     Then  in  love, 
Or  more  perchance  in  pity,  he  drew  near, 
Laying  a  hand  upon  the  ashen  brow, 
Whose  swollen  arteries  wrought  so  fearfully. 

Suddenly  conscious,  upward  from  his  couch     * 
The  stricken  ruler  started.     One  fierce  pang, 
As  eye  met  eye,  shot  through  his  inmost  soul ; 
Then  he  was  calm  —  a  cold,  relentless  judge. 

Joseph  spake  out  his  errand  ;  bending  not 
With  supplicating  knee,  in  doubt,  or  fear, 
But  simply,  calmly,  boldly.    There  was  much 
In  his  unstudied  singleness  of  heart 
That  won  upon  the  ruler,  as  he  looked 
In  the  disciple's  face,  and  answered  him  : 
"  Even  as  thou  wilt.     The  body  shall  be  thine." 
He  waved  his  hand,  and  quick  the  attendant  passed  ; 
Then,  with  low  cadence,  and  inquiring  eye, 
Again  he  spoke  :  "  What  thinkest  thou  of  him 
We  crucified  to-day  1     Believest  thou  ?'.' 
Joseph  shrunk  not  from  that  deep,  piercing  eye. 
One  silent  prayer  ascended  ;  he  stood  forth, 
And  spoke  what  Pilate  could  not  then  gainsay, 
Mysteries  of  him  who  should,  and  who  had  come  — 
Messiah,  Shiloh,  Christ,  Emanuel. 
Pilate  was  troubled  ;  for  his  new-born  faith 
Was  struggling  sore  with  aged  unbelief; 
And  when  he  was  alone  he  bowed  himself, 


The  Burial  of  Jesus.  465 

With  a  deep  groan,  upon  his  very  knees, 

As  if  he  would  have  crushed  his  deep  remorse. 

Ere  Joseph  entered  Harat's  dubious  way, 
He  paused  a  moment  where  the  Lord  was  scourged ; 
And  yet  again,  where,  crowned  with  thorns,  he  bent 
His  meek  head  to  indignity  —  the  mob 
Mocking  his  weakness  with  the  name  of  king. 
Yet  farther,  was  the  stone  whereon  he  leaned, 
Fainting  with  grief  and  anguish.     Farther  still, 
He  blessed  the  Holy  Mother.     Could  it  be 
These  awful  memories  were  reality  1 
Pressing  a  hand  upon  his  throbbing  brow, 
■  As  if  to  gain  assurance,  Joseph  turned 
From  public  haunts,  and  sought  the  place*of  death. 
There  was  no  light ;  but  blackness  over,  all, 
Without  relief  —  a  visible  despair. 
One  fearful  shudder  quivered  in  his  heart, 
When  first  Golgotha  met  his  searching  eye, 
Making  the  blackness  blacker.     Then  he  bound 
His  throbbing  bosom  with  the  cords  of  faith, 
And  went  on  without  fear.     Suddenly  woke 
A  lambent  beam  of  light.     It  passed  away ; 
But  far  amid  the  darkness  it  revealed 
The  features  of  the  Crucified.     Again 
It  touched  the  hovering  shadows,  and  withdrew, 
As  a  bright  gleam  pf  momentary  joy, 
Quivering  an  instant  on  the  soul's  despair, 
It  lived  ;  it  vanished.     All  was  dark  again. 
The  woven  blackness  slowly  was  unfurled, 
Like  heavy  drapery,  and  from  its  depths 
A  lucid  sphere  burst  upward  on  the  gloom. 
Majestic  and  effulgent  it  arose, 
As  if  a  sun  were  born  at  midnight  deep, 
Or  God  were  present  upon  Calvary. 
A  light  beamed  outward  from  the  Savior's  brow  — 
The  long  foretold,  the  "  Dayspring  from  on  High." 
'Twas  not  like  sun,  or  moon,  or  any  star ; 
The  glory  burst  forth  with  endazzling  strength, 
As  Life  Divine  had  been  made  luminous, 
Through  its  pure  effulgence,  Omnipresent  Love. 

Joseph  went  on  in  silence  to  the  cross ; 


466  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

But  when  he  saw  his  faithful  followers  there, 
With  torches  dim  beneath  those  wondrous  lights, 
He  bowed  himself,  and  worshiped,  with  deep  joy. 

"  Hosanna  !  Hail,  Messiah  !  Redeemer  !   Christ !" 
Shouted  the  joyful  followers  of  the  Lord. 
Echo  caught  up  the  thrilling  syllables  ; 
And  as  if  earth  had  found  ten  thousand  tongues, 
The  silence  became  vocal,  spreading  far 
The  swelling  chorus.     "Wondering  Lebanon, 
With  his  old  cedars  bowing  their  green  heads, 
Cried  from  his  depths  :  "  All  hail  Emanuel !" 
Carmel  and  Sharon,  with  their  flowery  lyres, 
Sang  a  sweet  anthem  to  the  "Prince  of  Peace  !" 
Hoary  Sinai  cried  :  "  Redeemer  !  hail !" 
And  Horeb  answered  :  "  Hail !  Emanuel !" 
Jordan's  deep  voice  became  articulate  ; 
And  all  his  conscious  waters  leaped,  and  sang  : 
•'  Hail !  the  Redeemer  !  Hail !  Emanuel !" 
It  swept  o'er  wide  Judea.     Every  tree, 
And  fragile  reed,  and  bending  bush,  and  flower, 
Joined  as  it  might ;  until  the  anthem  rose, 
Pealing  away  to  meet  the  choirs  of  Heaven ; 
Then,  passing  through  creation's  farthest  bound, 
Sphere  cried  to  sphere  :  "  All  hail  !  All  hail  !  Messiah 
He  was  arrayed  for  burial.     As  they  bore 
The  body  on  through  Calvary,  a  wind 
Quickening  and  vital  as  the  breath  of  God, 
Swept  o'er  the  mountain,  murmured  through  the  vale ; 
And  every  tree,  and  shrub,  and  creeping  vine, 
Was  stirred,  as  with  devotion.     Silently 
The  cedar  bowed  himself.     The  kingly  palm, 
Acacia,  and  majestic  sycamore, 
And  box,  and  fir,  and  date,  and  olive  tree, 
Bent  their  green  heads,  and  scattered  dew,  like  tears. 

The  breeze  swept  on  ;  and  every  ancient  rock 
Gave  out  its  deep-toned  music ;  reed  and  ledge, 
The  mountain  rose,  and  lily  of  the  vale, 
And  every  simple  plant,  and  unnamed  flower, 
Sang  as  if  perfume  had  grown  audible. 
The  moon  woke  fair  and  brilliant ;  stars  came  out, 
For  clouds  had  vanished  from  the  blue  of  heaven, 


The  Burial  of  Jesus.  467 

And  glittering  dew-drops  then  embalmed  the  Dead, 
Like  tears  of  angels,  tinged  with  lines  of  joy. 

They  brought  him  to  the  sepulchre ;  and  then 
The  faithful  followers  from  Galilee 
Drew  near,  and  stood  around.     One  started  forth 
From  mid  a  bending  group.     Her  raven  hair 
Flowed  loose  upon  the  wind.     The  dark  eyes  shone 
With  love  and  deep  devotion  beaming  still, 
Though  their  young  brightness  had  been  quenched  in  tears. 
Flinging  the  mesh  of  hair  from  her  white  arms, 
She  clung  around  the  body  and  poured  out 
The  torrent  of  her  tears,  without  restraint. 
Her  agony  of  tears  betrayed  the  Magdalene. 

"  Peace  to  thee  Mary !     He  shall  rise  again." 
A  gentle  hand  passed  o'er  the  weeper's  brow; 
She  turned,  and  saw  the  Blessed  Mother  there. 
Her  features  wore  the  calm  and  holy  light 
Of  one  conversant  long  with  things  divine. 
The  face  was  living  alabaster.     Low, 
In  meekness  bent  the  beautiful  veined  lids, 
With  their  rich  fringes  drooping  on  her  cheek, 
Like  evening  shadows  penciled  upon  snow. 

Earnestly  gazing  on  the  lifeless  form 
Of  that  Mysterious  One,  whom  she  had  borne, 
And  nursed,  and  loved,  and  led  to  man's  estate, 
And  followed  unto  death,  and  to  the  grave, 
She  thought  of  him  a  babe,  a  child,  a  youth — 
How  winning,  and  how  gentle  he  had  been ; 
She  thought  of  him  in  manhood's  glowing  prime, 
The  Leader,  and  the  Healer,  followed  still 
By  multitudes,  to  worship,  or  destroy — 
The  Persecuted — the  Despised — Adored. 
She  traced  his  line  of  life,  until  she  came 
To  the  dread  moments  of  Gethsemane — 
Thence  to  the  cross.     She  felt  the  cruel  taunt, 
The  crown  of  thorns,  the  vinegar,  the  gall, 
The  venomed  mockery,  the  nails,  the  spear, 
The  agony  so  meekly,  gently  borne — 
So  powerless,  yet  so  mighty ;  and  her  heart 
Writhed,  with  his  wrongs  and  tortures  to  its  core. 
But  her  deep  anguish,  soothed  by  that  strange  power, 


468  THE    HESPERIAN. 

"Which  yet  shone  back,  reflected  from  his  life, 

Felt  the  sweet  comfort  of  a  higher  faith. 

The  full  proportions  of  his  character, 

Majestic,  yet  so  childlike,  seemed  to  stand 

Arrayed  with  life  before  her — all  divine — 

But  most  that  pure,  that  heavenly  modesty, 

Shadowing  his  glory  with  so  soft  a  veil, 

The  very  humblest  only  felt  his  love. 

Had  mother  ever  such  a  son  as  he  ? 

How  could  she  go  away,  and  leave  him  there, 

So  still,  so  cold,  so  lifeless  1     She  bowed  down, 

Praying  for  strength  ;  and  strength  was  given  her. 

She  brought  no  kiss  ;  she  offered  no  embrace  ; 
But  once  she  pressed  her  lips  upon  his  cheek, 
Pausing  a  moment,  as  if  heart  and  mind 
Were  struggling  for  the  mastery  ;  till  the  lov^e 
A  mother  ever  feels  had  blended  with 
A  sentiment  of  deepest  reverence. 
She  laid  her  hand  in  silence  on  his  brow, 
Feeling  how  cold  it  was.     One  yearning  look  ; 
Then  all  the  mother  gushed  into  her  eyes  ; 
And  taking  Mary's  hand,  she  turned  away. 

Perfume  and  spices  breathed  through  all  the  tomb 
Where  Joseph  laid  him.     Then  they  went  their  ways  ; 
And  angels  came  and  kept  the  sepulchre. 


THE     WIFE 


A    STORY    OF    CALIFORNIA. 


BY    MRS.    M.    I).    STRONG. 


CHAPTER  I. 
The  little  village  of  Pownal,  Vermont,  was  very  quiet  in  the  autumn 
of  1S54.  Indeed,  there  were  two  or  three  clusters  of  houses  which 
might  have  been  called  villages,  in  the  great  rambling  town,  connect- 
ed by  roads  that  wound  beside  the  river,  or  wandered  off  among  the 
hills.     But  the  one  of  which  I  write,  nestled  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 


The  Wife;  a  Story  of  California.  469 

just  where  the  long  covered  bridge  spans  the  Hoosac  river.  Over 
this  hill  ran  a  rough  mountain  road,  grass-grown,  save  where  occa- 
sional wheels  had  worn  their  traces,  leading  up  to  the  scattered  farm- 
houses among  the  mountains,  and  thence  over  the  state  line  into  Mas- 
sachusetts. Passing  the  bridge  to  the  other  bank  of  the  river,  a  road 
more  travelled,  but  even  more  wild  and  picturesque,  followed  the 
river  around  the  foot  of  the  mountain  by  what  was  called  the  "  dug 
way,"  and  thence  on  to  Williamstown.  In  this  village  were  some 
dozen  or  more  old  brown  houses  of  nondescript  architecture  and  a 
tumble-down  look,  together  with  a  slight  sprinkling  of  modern  white 
and  yellow  painted  ones  that  looked  like  innovators ;  a  large,  un- 
painted  woolen  factory,  old  and  weather-stained,  a  school-house,  a 
little  store,  and  a  neat  church  with  white  walls  and  green  blinds — 
another  modern  innovation.  Very  quiet,  and  refreshingly  country- 
like was  the  place,  for  the  desecrating  screech  of  the  locomotive,  with 
all  its  attendant  Babel,  had  not  yet  found  its  way  there. 

There  was  one  large  square-roofed  two-story  house  nearly  oppo- 
site the  church  which  evidently  had  been  an  aristocratic  mansion  in 
its  day,  and  had  a  certain  grandness  in  its  appearance,  even  then, 
though  its  roof  was  mossy,  and  its  exterior  bore  the  traces  of  many 
storms  and  very  many  winters.  But  on  this  particular  morning,  the 
early  sunshine  and  the  unrivalled  September  day,  clad  it  and  the 
maples  and  lilac  clumps  in  its  ample  front  yard  with  a  glory  that 
made  every  shingle  and  board  and  chimney  beautiful,  and  poured  a 
flood  of  magnificence  through  its  open  front  window  into  the  great 
rag-carpeted  sitting-room.  A  man  hale  and  stout,  looking  not  much 
past  the  prime  of  manhood,  stood  there  before  a  large  glass  with  an 
old-fashioned  gilt  frame. 

"Well,  wife,"  said  he,  turning  around  and  facing  the  person  ad- 
dressed, while  he  buttoned  his  collar  at  the  back  of  his  neck,  "  are 
you  going  or  not  ?" 

The  lady  moved  uneasily  on  the  lounge  where  she  was  reclining, 
and  answered,  with  a  snap  of  her  black  eyes :  "  No,  I  am  not  going. 
I  shall  suffer  enough  just  to  know  what's  going  on,  without  seeing 
it." 

"  But  what  will  folks  say?"  said  the  man,  picking  up  his  cravat. 

"  I  can't  help  what  they  say,"  returned  the  lady  slowly,  bathing 
her  forehead  with  camphor  from  a  bottle  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"  Re'lly  now,  Miss  Edwards,  I  don't  see  what  you  feel  so  bad 
about.     There's  nothing  asrin  the  girl  that  I  know  of." 


470  THE    HESPERIAN. 

Mrs.  Edwards  put  down  her  bottle  of  camphor,  and  raised  herself 
with  a  look  that  was  meant  to  be  withering.  "  Is  that  all  you  re- 
quire in  your  son's  wife,  that  there  shall  be  nothing  special  against 
her?" 

"  Oh,  well  now,  don't  fetch  a  fellow  up  so.  To  be  sure  she  aint 
as  handsome  as  you  used  to  be,  and  she  aint  rich,  but  then  no  more 
aint  Arthur.  She's  the  right  age  for  him,  though,  and  she's  healthy 
and  got  good  sense  and  a  pretty  good  eddication,  they  say.  Fact, 
wife,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Arthur'd  got  the  best  of  the  bargain, 
after  all." 

The  lady  deigned  no  reply.  Mr.  Edwards  finished  his  toilet  and 
went  to  the  door.  Then  he  turned  round  again.  "  If  you  won't  go, 
why,  I'll  have  to  go  alone  and  make  the  best  excuse  I  can  for  you."' 

Mrs.  Edwards  was  quite  silent,  her  face  covered  with  her  hand- 
kerchief. So  her  husband  passed  out,  shutting  the  great  rickety  hall 
door  after  him,  and  took  his  way  across  the  road  to  the  church. 

On  the  steps  he  stopped,  and  with  his  hand  shading  his  eyes, 
looked  across  the  bridge  and  up  the  road  on  the  other  side.  As  he 
stood  there  a  knot  of  little  girls  brushed  past  him,  bearing  a  large 
basket. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  ?"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  we've  got  some  wreaths  and  some  bouquets,  and  we're  going 
to  fix  up  the  church,  'cause  the  school-ma'am's  going  to  be  married." 

"  She  is,  is  she  ?  and  are  you  glad  of  it  ?" 

"  I  aint  glad  she's  going  away,  for  I  like  her  ever  so  much,  but  I 
want  to  see  a  wedding,  'cause  I  never  did  in  all  my  life,"  answered 
one  of  the  little  misses. 

Mr.  Edwards  walked  up  the  aisle  of  the  empty  church,  and  sit- 
ting down  in  one  of  the  pews,  watched  the  little  girls,  as  they  flitted 
about,  placing  a  wreath  liere  and  a  bouquet  there,  under  the  super- 
vision of  a  smart  miss  of  fourteen,  and  at  last  strewing  the  main  aisle 
of  the  church  with  the  blossoms  left  in  their  basket. 

"  Well,"  thought  Mr.  Edwards,  "  it  really  does  look  nice.  The 
scholars  must  think  something  of  the  teacher,  or  they  wouldn't  take 
all  this  pains." 

Presently  people  began  to  come  in — young  men  and  maidens  and 
children,  and  even  old  men  and  matrons,  till  the  church  was  better 
filled  than  it  had  often  been  on  the  Sabbath.  Why  is  it  that  we  all, 
everywhere,  take  such  an  interest  in  a  wedding  ? 


The  Wife:  a  Story  of  California.  471 

A  few  moments  of  fluttering  expectation  and  busy  exchanging  of 
whispers  and  then  everybody  turned  to  look,  for  up  the  flower-strewn 
aisle  came  the  bridegroom  and  his  bride.  A  tall,  well  formed  young 
man,  tastefully  attired,  and  with  a  singularly  handsome  face,  and  by 
his  side  a  lady  in  a  travelling  dress,  of  medium  hight  and  plain  fea- 
tured— yet  the  abundant  brown  hair  shaded  a  forehead  broad  and  full, 
and  the  grey  eyes  had  intellect  and  power  in  them. 

Mr.  Edwards  watched  the  face  of  the  bride  and  noted  every 
change  in  it,  from  the  sudden  lighting  of  the  eye  and  the  flush  of 
pleased  surprise  when  she  first  glanced  at  the  floral  labors  of  her  pu- 
pils, to  the  downcast  look  and  calm  demeanor,  modest,  yet  not  timid, 
with  which  she  stood  beside  his  son,  while  the  brief  and  simple  cere- 
mony went  on.  She  neither  blushed  nor  trembled,  but  in  that  quiet 
which  is  born  of  .deep  happiness,  she  gave  her  all  of  earth  to  the 
keeping  of  the  man  beside  her  with  an  earnest  consciousness  of  the 
act  which  made  her  utterly  oblivious  of  the  inquisitive  eyes  that 
scanned  her  from  pew  and  gallery. 

When  the  minister  said  "  Amen,"  Mr.  Edwards  drew  a  long  breath. 
He  had  always  had  a  kindly  feeling  toward  his  son's  betrothed — she 
had  grown  in  his  estimation  that  morning.  "  There's  a  good  deal  to 
that  girl,"  thought  he.  "  Arthur  might  have  suited  his  mother  and 
done  worse.  Sorry  Miss  Edwards  feels  so  bad  about  it ;"  and  amid 
the  hand  shakings  and  congratulations  that  followed,  he  marched  up 
to  his  daughter-in-law,  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss,  and  following  the  pair 
to  their  carriage,  urged  Arthur  to  "  bring  his  wife  right  home  when 
he  came  back  to  Pownal,  and  let  her  stay  there  till  he  knew  what  he 
was  going  to  do." 

"  Dear  me!"  thought  he,  as  they  drove  away,  "  what  would  Miss 
Edwards  say  if  he  should." 

On  through  the  long  sunny  day  went  the  married  pair,  the  pan- 
orama of  mountain  and  river  and  forest  ever  shifting  around  them, 
and  they  two  alone  with  their  love  and  their  great  joy.  To  love  and 
to  be  loved  ;  it  is  the  key  that  unlocks  all  in  our  nature  that  is  noble, 
all  that  is  human,  and  all  in  the  universe  that  makes  life  desirable  or 
immortality  glorious. 

"Now,  Hannah,"  said  Miss  Blackington,  Mrs.  Edwards'  maiden 
sister,  who  dropped  in  after  the  wedding,  "  this  has  just  worried  you 
sick,  I  know.  It  is  too  bad  !  I  had  twenty  minds  about  going  to 
see  'em  married,  but,  on  the  whole,  I  thought  I'd  better.  You  see, 
folks  won't  talk  so  much." 


472  THE    HESPERIAN". 

Miss  Blackington  knew  In  her  heart  that  she  never  could  resist 
the  temptation  to  be  present  at  a  marriage. 

"  Poor  Arthur,"  said  Mrs.  Edwards,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears, 
"  he  is  my  only  child,  and  I  had  set  my  heart  on  him  so  much." 

Miss  Blackington  wiped  her  eyes  in  sympathy  and  resumed : 
"  She  wasn't  dressed  anyhow  ;  had  on  a  silver  grey  poplin,  just  such 
a  one  as  I  wear  afternoons,  and  a  bonnet  of  gray  silk  just  made  plain 
— looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  Quakeress." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  been  surprised  if  she'd  worn  calico,"  said  Mrs. 
Edwards. 

"  Mary  Mason  told  me,  the  other  day,  that  the  girl  hasn't  got  any 
good  clothes.  She's  only  got  one  silk  dress,  and  that  is  black  and 
looks  as  if  it  had  been  made  over.  I  asked  Mary  what  she  'sposed 
she'd  done  with  the  money  she  earned  this  summer,  and  she  says  she 
guesses  it  went  to  her  aunt  down  in  Connecticut.  It  seems  her  uncle 
is  a  miserable  drunkard,  and  they're  wretched  poor." 

"  Oh  dear!"  sighed  Mrs.  Edwards,  "that's  worse  thau  I  thought. 
I  knew  her  relations  weren't  anybody,  but  I  didn't  think  they  were 
so  miserable  as  that." 

"  Arthur  is  so  handsome,  too,"  rejoined  the  other;  "I  couldn't 
hardly  help  crying  this  morning,  to  look  at  him  standing  up  to  be 
married  to  that  Euth  Lee.  He  might  have  married  any  girl  in  Pow- 
nal  or  William stown  either.  But  she's  been  setting  her  cap  for  him 
ever  since  she's  been  here*  I've  seen  that  plain  enough." 

"  Oh,  well !"  said  Mrs.  Edwards,  raising  herself  up  and  smoothing 
her  disordered  hair,  "  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  bearing  this  as  a  christian 
ought  to.  All  these  trials  are  sent  for  our  good,  I  know.  But  it's 
very  hard.  And  Mr.  Edwards  is  so  queer — he  never  did  have  a  bit 
of  feeling  for  me  about  anything." 


*  CHAPTER   II. 

It  was  five  o'clock.  The  September  afternoons  had  begun  to  grow 
cool,  and  the  mountain  side  had  a  tinge  of  red  and  yellow  here  and 
there  in  its  green.  The  air  was  so  still  that  every  separate  leaf  fall 
could  be  heard,  and  the  sound  of  the  river's  flow  came  up,  almost 
startling  the  traveller  by  its  seeming  nearness.  Winding  slowly 
around  the  narrow  "  dug  way"  between  the  river  and  the  mountain 
was  n  light  covered  buggy  with  two  occupants.     The  tramp  of  the 


The  Wife:  a  Story  of  California.  473 

horse  said  very  plainly  "I  am  tired,"  and  his  driver  seemed  too  much 
pre-occupied  to  notice  his  pace. 

"  There  is  one  thing,  Ruth,"  said  the  gentleman  to  his  lady  com- 
panion ;  "  I  ought  to  have  spoken  to  you  about  it  long  ago,  but  I 
dreaded  it  and  so  kept  putting  it  off;  What  would  you  say  if  I  should 
tell  you  I  thought  of  going  to  California?" 

The  lady  was  looking  dreamily  through  the  trees,  where  the  river 
on  before  them  gleamed  in  the  red  sunset.  Instantly  the  dreamy  ex- 
pression vanished  from  her  face,  and  the  eager  eyes  sought  his. 

*;  Are  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  am.  I've  been  thinking  about  it  for  more  than  a 
year." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  then,  in  a  tone  not  quite  so  eager  yet 
very  firm  and  cheerful,  she  said  :  "  I  should  say  just  what  another 
Ruth  of  old  time  said  to  a  dear  friend." 

Arthur  smiled.  "  You're  a  nice  accommodating  little  wife,"  said 
he,  "but  I  haven't  told  you  the  worst  of  it  yet ;  if  I  go,  I  can't  take 
you  with  me ;  that  is,  I  should  have  to  go  on  alone,  and  then  send 
for  you  as  soon  as  I  could." 

The  honest  eyes  showed  very  plainly  that  those  words  had  brought 
a  cloud,  but  they  had  no  language  to  tell  of  its  blackness,  of  the  mo- 
mentary ceasing  of  all  the  throbbing  pulses  of  young  life,  as  when 
one  recoils  from  an  abyss  yawning  suddenly  in  his  pathway. 

But  Arthur  could  not  guess  of  that ;  how  should  he,  when,  save 
a  white  cheek  and  trembling  lip,  he  saw  only  a  calm  exterior.  At 
length  he  said,  a  little  impatiently  :  "  Well,  Ruth  ?" 

Her  voice  was  very  husky — almost  harsh — as  she  answered  :  "  I 
think  that  is  the  worst  of  it,  indeed,  Arthur.  How  could  I  stay  here 
and  let  you  go  alone  ?     Why  not  both  go  together  "?" 

"  For  several  reasons,  darling,  which  I  think  unanswerable.  I 
have  thought  it  all  over  and  over  and  tried  to  get  around  them,  but  I 
can't.  In  the  first  place,  I've  got  hardly  means  enough  to  bear  my 
own  expenses  out.  Then  I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  when 
I  get  there.  I  know  nobody  there  except  cousin  Fred  ;  you  remem- 
ber, I  spoke  to  you  about  him.  I  shall  have  to  look  around  and  see 
what  I  can  get  to  do,  and  meanwhile,  how  are  we  going  to  live? 
If  I  am  alone,  I  can  get  along  in  almost  any  way,  you  kruow,  but  if 
I  have  you  with  me,  why  of  course,  I  must  make  you  comfortable, 
and  Fred  assures  me  it  costs  something  to  be  comfortable  anywhere 


474  THE    HESPEEIAN 

iii  California.  I  wrote  to  him  a  while  ago  and  told  him  I  was  going 
to  be  married,  and  he  advised  me  in  his  answer  not  to  bring  my  wife 
with  me  unless  I  was  sure  of  a  situation  as  soon  as  I  landed,  or  had 
funds  enough  to  support  us  for  a  time.  I  know  it  will  be  very  hard, 
but  it  will  be  hard  for  me,  too,  and  you  must  bear  it  bravely  for  my 
sake.  I  feel  sure  I  could  send  for  you  in  five  or  six  months,  at  the 
longest,  perhaps,  in  three  or  four,  and  that  time  will  slip  away  a  great 
deal  faster  than  we  think  now." 

"  But  wouldn't  it  be  better  for  us  both  to  remain  here,  where  the 
necessary  expenses  of  living  are  not  very  great,  until  we  have  accu- 
mulated sufficient  means  to  go  to  California  together.  I  know  I 
should  have  no  heart  to  work,  away  from  you — I  don't  believe  you 
would,  away  from  me." 

"  Shouldn't  I,  if  I  was  working  for  you  ?  And  then,  what  can  I 
do  here  ?  Pshaw  !  I'm  disgusted  with  this  one-horse  eountiy.  Here 
I've  been  carrying  around  a  load  of  coppers  in  my  pockets  all  day 
heavy  enough  to  make  me  feel  tired,  and  all  of  them  won't  count  up 
to  a  York  shilling.  Now,  that's  just  a  specimen  of  Yankee  land.  In 
California,  Fred  says,  you  never  see  any  change  less  than  a  dime." 

"  Perhaps,  though,  the  copper  is  worth  as  much  here  as  the  dime 
is  there." 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  I  couldn't  grub  along,  as  I  should  have  to  here, 
for  a  mere  pittance.  It  isn't  in  my  nature.  I've  got  too  much  of 
the  Blackington  blood  in  me  for  that.  The  fact  is,  Euth,  I'm  bound 
to  be  rich,  and  I'm  going  to  do  *it  in  the  shortest  way  possible,  pro- 
vided it  is  an  honorable  way,  of  course.  My  grandfather  was  rich 
and  my  great-grandfather,  and  my  father  might  have  been,  if  he 
hadn't  been  so  confoundedly  unlucky.  I  don't  think  I  could  ever  be 
happy  if  I  were  poor." 

"I  think  I  should  be  very  happy  with  you,  if  we  were  always 
poor.  However,  I  believe  that  money  makes  people  happier,  if  they 
know  how  to  use  it ;  but,  Arthur,  I  would  never  propose  to  myself 
wealth  as  an  end  in  life." 

Presently  she  added  :  "If  you  have  such  a  desire  to  be  rich,  I  am 
almost  afraid  you  will  some  day  regret  that  you  did  not  marry  a  rich 
wife,  as  you  once  told  me  your  mother  wished  you  to  do." 

"  Not' a  bit  of  it,  Ruth.  I  want  a  wife  with  my  money,  and  one 
that  knows  how  to  use  it  and  to  show  it  off,  too.  I  never  thought 
you-had  a  pretty  face,  Ruth  ;  I  never  told  you  so  ;  but  you've  got  a 


The  Wife :   a  Story  of  California.  475 

brain  behind  that  forehead  of  yours,"  and  Arthur  smoothed  the  brown 
hair  underneath  the  plain  bonnet  with  a  caressing  tenderness  that 
sent  a  delicious  thrill  to  Ruth's  heart,  "  and  dress  and  contact  witli 
polished  society,  and  the  accomplishments  you  would  acquire  so 
easily,  would  make  a  splendid  woman  of  you.  Oh,  you  shall  have 
every  advantage ;  yon  may  learn  music  and  painting  and  languages 
and  everything  else  you  have  so  coveted  to  know  ;  and  one  day  we'll 
come  back  here  and  astonish  these  people  that  look  down  upon  you 
now." 

Ruth  smiled  sadly.  "  I  haven't  much  ambition  to  astonish  people, 
Arthur,  but  you're  a  very  fine  castle  builder,  I  must  confess.  But  to 
come  back  to  reality,  where  will  you  leave  me  when  you  go  away  ?" 

"  In  my  father's  house,  of  course,  Ruth.  Don't  you  remember 
what  he  said  to  us  the  morning  we  were  married?  Nothing  would 
please  the  old  gentleman  better.  You'd  be  the  greatest  comfort  in 
life  to  him." 

"  He  has  always  seemed  very  kind  to  me,"  said  Ruth,  and  then 
she  stopped  and  wound  and  unwound  the  fringe  of  her  shawl  around 
her  finger.  "  Arthur,"  at  length  she  said,  with  the  air.  of  one  whose 
mind  is  made  up  to  say  something  which  might  be  unpleasant,  "  per- 
haps it  is  only  a  fancy,  but  I  half  suspect  your  mother  is  rather  pre- 
judiced against  me.  I  think  she  is  not  quite  pleased  with  your  mar- 
riage." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Arthur,  and  he  avoided  meeting  the  clear  eyes  that 
rested  on  his  face,  "  you  mustn't  mind  mother.  She  is  queer  some- 
times, I  know,  but  she  thinks  the  world  of  me,  and  she'll  like  you  as 
well  as  father  does  when  she  gets  acquainted  with  you.  She  doesn't 
know  anything  about  you  yet.  But  here  we  are  at  our  gate  already, 
and  there's  father  in  the  back  yard." 

[To  be  continued.] 


Mi-eau  in  America. — A  New  York  paper  says  that  a  lad  in  that 
city  on  delivering  his  milk,  was  asked  why  the  milk  was  so  warm. 
"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  with  much  simplicity,  "  unless  they  put 
in  warm  water  instead  of  cold" 


SKETCHES  OF  MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  NEIGHBORS. 


THE    WIDOW    CROLEY   AND    HER   BEAUTIFUL    NIECE. 


BY   MRS.  S.  M.  CLARKE. 


On  the  following  week,  which  was  to  close  the  district  school  for  the 
summer,  while  the  beautiful  school  mistress  was  engaged  in  her  pro- 
fession, the  Widow  Oroley  pondered  seriously  the  subjects  of  her 
long  conversations  with  her  niece,  and  resolved,  thoughtfully  and 
painfully,  upon  a  change  of  residence.  She  felt  assured  that  her 
adopted  child  could  never  feel  perfectly  at  home  in  the  little  village 

of  E ;  her  splendid  talents  and  generous  nature  required  a  larger 

and  different  sphere  of  action. 

"  It  will  be  a  severe  trial  to  leave  Maple  Hall,"  she  exclaimed,  as 
she  paced  alone  the  polished  floor  of  her  library,  as  on  a  former  occa- 
sion, and,  indeed,  as  was  her  habit  when  her  mind  was  occupied  with 
any  exciting  subject, — "the  scene  of  all  my  hopes,  and  all  my  fear- 
ful disappointments,  rendered  dearer,  even,  for  my  griefs,  than  for  my 
joys.  Strange  that  sorrow  should  have  more  potent  power  than  hap- 
piness to  attach  the  heart  to  home ;  and  yet,  now  that  I  think  of 
leaving  Maple  Hall,  I  feel  that  it  is  so.  My  dead — '  in  the  deep 
bosom  of  the  ocean  buried' — do  yet  repose  here — for  here  I  mourned 
for  them — here  I  resigned  them  to  Heaven.  These  very  walls  are 
their  monuments — tablets  of  my  unutterable  grief,  almost  despair. 

0  God  !  I  tremble  when  I  think  how  near  my  spirit  came  to  the  dark 
verge  of  hopeless  misery.  And  all  I  look  out  upon,  my  grounds  and 
groves,  the  bay  and  western  sky,  remind  me  of  my  lost  treasures. 
They  give  me  back  my  husband  and  my  boys  in  flitting  shadows. 
Where  last  I  saw  them,  bounding  through  the  trees  in  merry  sport, 

1  seem  to  see  them  now — the  fleecy  clouds  of  sunset  take  their  forms 
and  float  in  beauty  by — the  deep-toned  waters  chime  their  solemn 
dirge.  Ah  !  must  I  leave  my  consecrated  home,  upon  whose  thresh- 
old still  I  hear  the  sound  of  their  departing  footsteps  ?  Will  it  not 
wrong  the  dead  to  tear  my  soul  away  from  all  their  earthly  haunts  ? ' 
I  did  not  feel  till  now  that  I  wTas  buried  with  them,  and  but  left  a 
statue  of  myself  in  the  dark  world  when  they  departed. 


My  Grandmother  s  Neighbors.  477 

"Yes,  I  must  go;  a  power  within,  beyond  my  own  control,  im- 
pels me.  Is  it  the  voice  of  my  dear  angel  sister,  pleading  with  my 
heart  for  her  sweet  child  ? — now  doubly  mine — my  all.  I  will  obey. 
Her  beautiful  young  life,  so  fresh  from  God,  so  full  of  noble  aspira- 
tions, must  have  scope.  I  will  not  hold  her  here  a  captive,  pining 
through  the  years  for  a  congenial  home  and  scene  of  action.  Yes,  I 
must,  leave  thee,  Maple  Hall,  dear  sacred  home,  '  where  I  had  hoped 
to  spend,  though  sad,'  the  remnant  of  my  days.  Be  brave,  my  heart, 
be  brave  and  strong  for  this  new  sacrifice." 

After  this  sorrowful  soliloquy,  this  brief  indulgence  in  past  mem- 
ories and  griefs,  the  Widow  Croley  silenced  every  morbid  sentiment 
by  determined  effort,  and  addressed  herself  with  energy  to  the  prac- 
tical duties  of  life,  to  executing  her  new  plans  for  the  future.  And 
she  experienced  a  mournfully  sublime  pleasure  in  becoming  her  own 
iconoclast,  and  immolating  upon  the  altar  of  self-sacrifice  her  dearest 
household  gods.  She  determined  heroically,  that  with  the  aid  of 
Heaven  every  idol  should  be  broken,  and  that  henceforth  she  would 
live  only- for  the  living,  while  she  should  remain  a  denizen  of  earth ; 
that  her  money,  her  time,  and  her  talents,  all  should  be  devoted  to 
the  improvement  and  happiness  of  others,  consecrated  to  the  service 
of  humanity. 

This  was  complete  self-abnegation.  She  thought  only  to  commu- 
nicate enjoyment,  without  the  hope  of  promoting  her  own,  for  her 
heart  seemed  too  cold  and  dead  to  be  reanimated.  But  a  cheerful, 
happy  spirit  followed  as  a  natural  result,  as  a  beautiful  moral  and 
philosophical  sequence.  In  abandoning  her  sad  heart  awhile,  and 
going  forth  to  promote  the  good  and  happiness  of  others,  she  weak- 
ened the  ties  of  grief  that  had  so  long  bound  her,  and  took  back  to 
her  own  bosom  a  portion  of  the  pleasure  that  she  created  for  them. 
And  such  is  the  ordination  of  Heaven.  And  in  her  struggle  to  set 
aside  her  own  peculiar  tastes  and  morbid  tendencies,  which  had  been 
fostered  by  her  sorrows,  and  to  act  generously  toward  her  niece,  her 
sympathies  enlarged  until  they  embraced  humanity  ;  she  burst  the 
narrow  chrysalis  of  self,  her  soul  took  wing  and  clothed  itself  in  its 
immortal  beauty,  to  begin  below  the  life  of  an  angel,  and  enjoy  the 
freedom  of  the  universe.  Maple  Hall  and  its  associations  were  no 
longer  needed  to  restore  her  loved  ones,  for  wherever  she  turned  they 
came  near  to  her  spirit,  overshadowed  by  the  presence  of  the  Father, 
and  the  world  was  full  of  life,  light  and  beauty.     And  in  her  clear 


478  THE    HESPEEIAK 

perception  of  the  sublime  fullness  of  life,  she  lost  the  dread  and  pain  of 
death  for  herself  and  for  all.  Death  appeared  indeed  a  "  shadow," 
and  the  grave  but  the  passage  to  immortality. 

Ah,  she  had  gained  the  christian  philosopher's  eminence,  and  lived 
henceforth  above  the  clouds  and  storms  of  earth.  Through  suffering, 
self-abnegation  and  trust  in  Heaven,  she  had  become  superior  to  suf- 
fering ;  which  is  the  true  supremacy  of  man  over  his  accidents.  And 
they  only  can  reach  suclrhights,  and  dwell  in  the  calm,  clear  atmos- 
phere of  peace  and  joy,  who  have  been  made  strong  through  suffer- 
ing ;  whose  souls  have  been  tempered  in  the  fires  of  adversity. 

When  Sarah  Mandiville  returned  to  Maple  Hall  at  the  close  of 
the  week,  she  learned  from  her  aunt  with  joyful  surprise,  that  she 
had  determined  upon  residing  for  the  future  in  her  beloved  city  of 

B ,  and  should  remove  there  in  the  early  part  of  the  autumn  ;  and 

that  she  had  already  forwarded  an  order  for  the  purchase  of  the  young- 
lady's  former  residence,  which  had  been  sold  after  the  decease  of  her 
father,  and  that  they  were  to  live  in  the  dear  old  home,  associated 
with  all  the  pleasant  reminiscences  of  her  childhood  and  youth.  Ma- 
ple Hall  and  its  grounds  were  to  be  sold,  and  they  were  to  take  a 
final  leave  of  country  life  and  enter  together  upon  a  new  sphere  of 
usefulness.  The  young  lady  fully  appreciated  the  great  sacrifice  that 
the  Widow  Croley  had  made  for  her ;  and  putting  her  arms  lovingly 
about  ■  her,  while  resting  her  head  upon  her  bosom,  she  wept  her 
grateful  acknowledgment.  They  both  wept  together,  moved  by  con- 
flicting feeling,  and  memories  too  deep  and  tender  for  language. 

And  so  they  passed  away  from  the  little  village  of  E ,  one  in 

the  beauty  of  youth,  the  other  in  the  beauty  of  perfect  womanhood, 
to  go  forth  as  lights  in  the  world — as  teachers  and  guides.  Their 
subsequent  history  is  written  in  the  hearts  of  those  for  whom  they 
rendered  the  path  of  knowledge  easy  and  pleasant,  and  the  way  of 
virtue  attractive  and  beautiful.  The  exit  of  the  young  lady  with  her 
aunt  was  no  less  unexpected  and  startling  to  the  neighbors  than  her 
entrance  had  been,  and  it  continued  to  be  the  theme  of  many  a  "  tea- 
party"  for  many  a  month.  Some  of  the  neighbors  intimated  that  it 
was  a  real  indignity  to  them  for  the  Widow  Croley  to  sell  her  prop- 
erty and  leave  the  village — that  she  had  no  right  to  set  herself  above 
her  neighbors,  as  she  undoubtedly  did,  or  she  would  not  have  left 
them.  And  others  appeared  to  think  seriously  that  the  grave-yard 
had. been  deprived  of  its  lawful  prey  by  her  departure.     "They  had 


My  Grandmother  s  Neighbors.  479 

always  counted,"  they  said,  "  upon  her  resting  there  at  the  end  of 
her  journey."  Polly  Spoonall  declared  ."  that  she  had  been  looking 
year  after  year  to  see  the  Widow  Croley  droop  and  die,  because  she 
took  the  death  of  her  husband  and  children  so  much  to  heart ;  and 
she  had  often  thought  that  if  she  should  die,  her  monument  would  be 
very  costly  and  a  real  ornament  to  the  village  churchyard — and  now 
she  was  actually  going  to  leave  them.  Well,  well,  there's  no  telling 
what  will  happen."  But  there  were  others  who  felt  deeply  the  loss 
of  their  society  in  the  village,  and  would  often  speak  regretfully  and 
admiringly  of  the  Widow  Croley,  of  her  patient  endurance  of  suffer- 
ing which  was  a  bright  christian  example  for  others  ;  and  of  the  kind 
heart  and  winning  manners  of  her  beautiful  niece. 

My  Grandmother's  Neighbors,  too,  have  passed  long  since  away 

from  the  little  village  of  E to  more  enduring  mansions.     Another 

generation  of  men  and  women  have  arisen,  filled  their  vacant  places,, 

"  Lived  where  their  fathers  lived,  died  where  they  died," 

and  passed  through  the  village  churchyard  to  immortality,  leaving  a 
brief  record  there  in  passing.     And  yet  another  generation  of  children,, 
that  came  after  them,  are  now  passing  away,  with  grey  locks  and 
wrinkled  brows,  through  the  same  portal.     We 'are  all  passing  away. 
Nothing  in  life  is  so  certain  as  the  event  we  call  death.     Yes,  we  are 
all  passing  away — not  into  gloom,  darkness  and  nothingness  ;  but  into 
a  clearer  and  more  perfect  day.    We  can  take  nothing  with  us  there,  to 
constitute  our  capital  for  eternity,  but  the  talents  with  which  we  enter- 
ed upon  our  mortal  existence,  improved  by  culture,  and  the  little  love 
and  thoughtfulness  of  others  that  we  have  cherished  amid  the  coldness, 
hardness  and  conflicting  interests  of  the  world.     And  if  it  appear  in 
that  clearer  day,  in  which  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  will  be  revealed, 
and  where  there  can  be  no  disguises,  that  we  have  invested  ourselves, 
our  intellectual  and  moral  natures,  in  business,  politics  and  pleasures, 
merely ;  then  shall  we  be,  of  all  bankrupts,  most  miserable.     How 
starved,  how  meagre,  how  pitiable  will  appear  our  shriveled  souls  ! 
My  Grandmother's  Neighbors  regretted — after  time  had  reveal- 
ed to  them  more  clearly  the  true  character  of  some  of  their  neigh- 
bors, and  showed  them  to  have  been  truly  noble  and  deserving — that 
they  were  governed  by  their  prejudices,  and  did  not  extend  that  aid 
and  sympathy  to  them  in  their  needs  and  sorrows  that  would  have 
ameliorated  their  hard  conditions  and  comforted  their  wounded  spirits. 
3 


480  THE    HESPERIAN. 

We  all  have  neighbors  who  have  claims  upon  our  love  and  kind- 
ness, and  who  have  noble  qualities  to  counterpoise  their  little  faults 
and  errors  of  judgment,  that  we  shall  not  fail  to  discover,  if  we  ob- 
serve them  with  care.  Let  us  not  have,  also,  to  regret  that  we  were 
too  late  in  rendering  them  the  aid  and  sympathy  they  had  a  right  to 
claim,  as  children  of  one  common  Father.  We  are  everywhere  sur- 
rounded by  those  who  appeal  strongly,  though  silently,  to  our  human- 
ity— let  them  not  appeal  in  vain.  Let  us  give  joyful  speech  to  their 
"  poor,  dumb  mouths."  A  cup  of  cold  water,  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  a 
kind  word,  are  trifles  to  bestow  on  one  of  earth's  poor,  weary  pil- 
grims, but  they  give  strength  and  hope  for  the  journey,  and  return 
to  the  giver  in  prayers  and  blessings. 


A  Drawing-room  sketch  from  the  Life  to  the  Life. — There 
sits  an  old  lady  of  more  than  fourscore  years — serene  and  kind,  and 
as  beautiful  in  her  age  now,  as  when  history  toasted  her.  What 
has  she  not  seen,  and  is  she  not  ready  to  tell  ?  All  the  fame  and 
wit,  the  rank  and  beauty  of  more  than  half  a  century,  have  passed 
through  those  rooms. 

She  is  as  simple  now,  as  though  she  had  never  had  any  flattery 
to  dazzle  her.  She  is  never  tired  of  being  pleased  and  being  kind. 
Can  that  have  been  anything  but  a  good  life  which,  after  more  than 
eighty  years  of  it  are  spent,  is  so  calm  ?  Could  she  look  to  the  end 
of  it  so  cheerfully,  if  its  long  course  had  not  been  pure  ?  Respect 
her,  I  say,  for  being  so  happy,  now  she  is  so  old.  We  do  not  know 
what  goodness  and  charity,  what  affections,  what  trials  may  have 
gone  to  make  that  charming  sweetness  of  temper,  and  complete  that 
perfect  manner. 

But  if  we  do  not  admire  and  reverence  such  an  old  age  as  that, 
and  get  good  from  contemplating  it,  what  are  we  to  respect  and  ad- 
mire ?  Thackeray. 

Such  age  how  beautiful !  0  lady  bright, 

Whose  mortal  elements  seem  all  refined. 

By  favoring  nature,  and  a  saintly  mind, 

To  something  purer  and  more  exquisite 

Than  flesh  and  blood.     When  e'er  thou  meet'st  my  sight. 

When  I  behold  thy  blanched  unwithered  cheek, 

Thy  temples  fringed  with  locks  of  gleaming  white, 

And  head  that  droops,  because  thy  soul  is  meek, 

Thee,  with  the  welcome  snow-drop  I  compare  ; 

That  child  of  winter,  prompting  thoughts  that  climb 

From  desolation  to  the  genial  prime ; 

Or  with  the  moon,  conquering  earth's  misty  air, 

And  filling  more  and  more  with  crystal  light 

As  pensive  evening  deepens  into  night.  Wordsworth. 


TWILIGHT      FANCIES 


BY  ELIZA  A.  PITTSINGER. 


Softly  flit  the  fairy-fancies 

Through  the  sunlight  of  my  Drain, 
Weaving  spells  of  weird  romances 
In  a  laughing,  joyous  strain — 
Gently  creeping, 
Gaily  leaping, 
Twilight  revels  strangely  keeping 
In  my  brain. 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted, 

While  my  soul  is  wrapt  in  thought, 
Wait  they  not  to  be  invited, 

Quite  unwelcome  and  unsought — 
Never  sitting, 
Ever  flitting, 
All  the  earnestness  outwitting 
Of  my  thought. 

Thus  to  have  my  being  haunted 

By  these  fairies  all  astray, 
By  these  elfin-sprites  enchanted, 
Is  a  spell  upon  my  way, 
That  shall  borrow 
For  the  morrow 
All  the  pleasure  and  the  sorrow 
Of  to-day. 

In  my  hours  of  quiet  musing, 

By  these  phantoms  thus  caressed, 
I  have  lost  the  right  of  choosing, 
As  I  ought,  my  favored  guest. 
Uninvited, 
Often  slighted, 
Come  they  ere  the  lamps  are  lighted 
For  a  guest. 

Thus  they  come — the  fairy-fancies — 
Laughing,  flitting  through  my  brain  ; 


482         *  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

Weaving  spells  of  wild  romances, 
In  a  wayward,  joyous  strain — 
Gaily  creeping, 
Fondly  leaping, 

Even  now  their  revels  keeping 
In  my  brain. 


THE     PRIMITIVE     THANKSGIVING 


BY  FRANCES  GREEN  MCDOUGAL. 


This,  too,  was  a  November  day,  1621.  On  the  wild  shore  of  Ply- 
mouth a  group  of  low  log  cabins,  each  with  its  bit  of  garden  plot  in 
front,  ran  parallel  with  a  range  of  hills  that  sheltered  them  from  the 
north.  These  were  the  homes  of  the  May-Flower  Pilgrims — the 
fathers  and  the  mothers  of  New  England.  A  prattling  brook,  of 
which  early  and  honorable  mention  is  made  in  their  history,  wound 
along  down  the  declivities,  turning  hither  and  thither  in  its  course, 
as  if  seeking  to  come  nearer  some  more  genial  spot ;  and  in  nooks  of 
the  highlands,  and  along  the  narrow  belt  of  the  valley,  lay  their  corn- 
fields, dun  and  solemn  in  their  loss  of  treasure,  which  seemed  to  be 
lamented  by  the  moaning  winds,  as  they  swept  over  the  dead  stub- 
ble, and  then  went  whistling  off  among  the  bare. and  shivering  trees. 

In  a  little  sheltered  nook  near  by,  lay  a  mournful  cluster  of  low 
mounds.  There,  underneath  the  grass  of  but  a  single  summer,  slept 
their  dead.  In  the  short  space  of  four  months,  they  had  parted  with 
more  than  half  of  their  original  number — with  what  anguish  it  is  dif- 
ficult for  us  to  conceive.  Oh,  how  unspeakably  dearer  were  those 
brave  hearts  for  all  they  had  hoped,  believed,  sacrificed,  and  suffered 
together.     • 

Which  ever  way  the  eyes  might  look  inland,  the  dark  old  forest 
stretched  with  an  unbroken  shadow,  hiding  within  its  awful  depths, 
difficulties  and  dangers  unknown.  Dashing  against  the  abrupt  shore, 
and  rounding  off  the  eastern  horizon,  opened  the  great  and  terrible 
sea ;  and  the  deep  echo  of  its  surging  chime  went  up  ever  through 
the  woods,  even  in  the  calmest  seasons  swelling  the  sharp  notes  of 
the  bending  pines  to  a  sublimer  music  ;  but  in  storms,  the  same  wind 
that  lashed  the  waves,  swept  over  the  wrenched  and  groaning  woods 


The  Primitive  Thanksgiving.  483 

with  a  prolonged  roar,  like  one  continuous  peal  of  deep  and  angry 
thunder.  And  over  all  hung  the  leaden  sky  of  a  chilly  November  day. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  situation  more  dreary — more 
forlorn  than  this.  A  dot  of  pasture  and  plough-land,  on  the  very 
verge  of  the  sterile  coast,  with  no  road  inland,  and  not  even  a  boat 
in  the  harbor,  had  sufficed,  thus  far,  to  sustain  and  comfort  that  heroic 
little  band,  who  were  by  their  position  completely  isolated,  with  an 
ocean  of  woods  behind,  and  an  ocean  of  waves  before.  But  in  the 
spirit  of  that  faith  which  taketh  hold  of  trials  in  such  a  way  that  they 
become  blessings,  they  rejoiced  in  the  present,  and  devoutly  trusted 
for  the  future. 

The  hand  of  the  Destroying  Angel  had  been  stayed.  A  season  of 
comparative  plenty  had  succeeded  the  early  famine.  The  harvests 
were  gathered  in.  It  was  but  an  act  of  filial  gratitude  for  past  and 
prospective  mercies,  that  they  should  meet  together,  and  keep  a  gen- 
eral feast  of  Thanksgiving. 

At  the  house  of  good-wife  Chilton,  and  late  the  residence  of  her 
excellent  husband,  James,  which  stood  nearly  in  the  center  of  the 
group  alluded  to  above,  was  held  this  first  celebration  of  the  day. 

A  slight  partition  between  the  two  principal  apartments  had  been 
removed  for  the  occasion  ;  and  the  spacious  fire-place  was  bright  with 
blazing  logs. 

The  room  was  so  filled  with  guests  that  its  bareness  of  furniture 
could  not  be  so  sensibly  felt  as  it  would  otherwise  have  been.  It  con- 
tained but  one  proper  chair ;  and  that,  being  the  post  of  honor,  was 
conceded  to  Mistress  Carver,  who,  besides  being  their  Governor's 
widow,  was  in  delicate  health.  The  other  seats  consisted  of  rough 
benches,  stools,  blocks,  and  a  high-backed  screen,  or  "  settle,"  as  it 
was  then  called,  with  a  box  under  the  seat,  divided  by  partitions,  for 
holding  tools,  and  a  variety  of  other  articles  in  common  use. 

There  were  a  small  stand  and  table,  evidently  of  home  manufac- 
ture ;  but  the  board  that  was  spreading  for  the  approaching  feast  con- 
sisted of  a  series  of  squared  logs,  each  one  elevated  on  stout  legs,  and 
the  whole  fitting  so  well  together  as  to  leave  no  objectionable  gap 
between.  This  ran  nearly  the  whole  length  of  the  apartment,  and 
parallel  with  its  outer  wall,  along  which  was  a  bench  for  seating  a 
portion  of  the  guests.  It  was  covered  with  linen  damask,  which,  for 
fineness  and  whiteness,  was  the  pride  of  the  good  dame's  heart,  hav- 
ing been  manufactured  by  her  own  thrifty  hands  during  their  long 
sojourn  in  Holland. 


484  THE    HESPERIAN. 

The  walls  were  entirely  bare,  consisting  of  the  hewn  sides  of  the 
logs  themselves,  rough,  but  fitting  so  well  together  by  their  horizon- 
tal surfaces,  as  to  make  the  apartment  tolerably  secure  from  the  outer 
air.  They  were,  however,  garnished  with  a  variety  of  ornaments  in 
the  sylvan  and  agricultural  line.  The  antlers  of  a  deer,  inclining 
gently  forward,  were  spread  imposingly  over  the  fire-place,  and  above 
the  front  entrance  opposite,  were  expanded  the  wings  of  a  large  eagle. 
Bunches  of  Indian  corn  of  various  colors,  white,  yellow,  red  and  blue, 
were  suspended  at  intervals  from  wooden  pegs  in  the  ceiling,  inter- 
spersed with  a  variety  of  squashes,  pumpkins,  hats,  caps,  and  various 
garments.  The  only  foreign  ornaments  were  those  contained  in  a 
beaufet,  and  a  round  mirror  of  perhaps  six  inches  in  diameter.  The 
curtain  of  the  beaufet  was  studiously  drawn  aside,  displaying  a  small 
but  choice  tea-service  of  Delft  ware,  with  the  plates  disposed  edge- 
wise on  the  shelves,  and  every  cup  set  into  its  own  saucer,  as  if  with 
an  eye  to  making  the  most  of  itself.  The  whole  was  a  perfect  min- 
iature to  anything  now  known,  and  looked  more  like  the  service  of  a 
baby-house,  than  anything  designed  for  the  refection  of  living  and 
grown-up  people.  The  mirror  was  adorned  with  a  festoon  of  red  and 
green  peppers,  strings,- and  clusters  of  red  berries,  with  some  beauti- 
ful feathers,  grasses,  and  amaranthine  flowers  stuck  in  the  frame. 
The  table,  which  was  already  in  the  course  of  being  laid  out,  was 
spread  with  wooden  trenchers  and  platters  of  the  same  material,  the 
halves  of  gourd  and  squash  shells,  serving  to  contain  many  of  the 
vegetables,  with  smaller  ones  for  the  salt,  which  was  their  only  con- 
diment. A  range  of  shelves  in  a  recess  on  each  side  of  the  fire  was 
furnished  with  wooden  boxes  of  various  dimensions,  and  vessels  formed 
of  gourd  and  squash  shells,  all  of  which  were  filled  with  different 
varieties  of  dried  corn,  beans,  and  peas. 

Yet  rude  as  were  their  present  accommodations,  all  of  these  peo- 
ple had  been  more  or  less  tenderly  nurtured  ;  and  many  of  them  were 
of  gentle  blood.  What  better  guage  can  be  given  of  the  strength  of 
their  principles,  than  their  having  voluntarily  relinquished  comforts, 
,  conveniences,  and  luxuries,  which  long  habit  had  rendered  necessary, 
for  privations  and  dangers  such  as  even  then  surrounded  them. 

Although  it  was  yet  scarcely  mid-day,  the  pale  and  often  cloud- 
ed sunbeams  came  but  obscurely  through  the  oiled  paper,  which  sup- 
plied the  place  of  glass  to  the  high  and  narrow  windows,  lending  a 
dim,  religious  light  which  hightened  the  solemnity  of  the  scene.     But 


The  Primitive  Thanksgiving.  485 

the  ruddy  glow  of  the  fire,  well  symbolizing  the  "  inner  light,"  which 
that  devoted  band  had  made  so  gloriously  manifest,  fell  on  such  a 
group  of  faces  as  perhaps  never  were  gathered  oh  any  other  merely 
festive  occasion. 

Adjusted  comfortably  as  might  be,  in  the  most  sheltered  corner, 
sat  good  Mistress  Carver,  relict  of  their  late  lamented  Governor;  and 
on  either  hand  were  Stephen  Bradford  and  Isaac  Allerton,  who, 
doubtless  by  the  sympathy  of  similar  bereavements,  were  attracted 
to  her  side.  A  little  removed  from  these  were  Edward  Winslow  and 
his  new  wife,  late  the  widow  of  William  White ;  thty  having  lost 
their  early  companions  had  turned  to  comfort  each  other.  On  an  In- 
dian mat  at  the  feet  of  the  dame,  sat  the  little  orphaned  Peregrine, 
chirping  and  crowing  as  merrily  as  if  he  had  had  a  Turkey  carpet,  in- 
stead of  a  rough  mat  of  wooden  fibres  to  tumble  and  roll  upon.  -In 
happy  unconsciousness  of  either  loss  or  inconvenience,  and  wholly 
unsuspecting  the  important  position  in  all  the  future  history  of  his 
people  with  which  the  circumstance  of  his  birth  would  invest  him, 
he  already  betrayed  that  sprightly  roguishness,  for  which  he  after- 
ward became  quite  noted.  With  instinctive  quickness  he  seemed  to 
have  already  discovered  that  he  was  a  favorite ;  for  as  he  was  the 
first  white  child  born  in  this  land,  the  good  people  had  cause  to  re- 
gard his  life  as  something  rare  and  sacred.  In  spite  of  all  his  mother 
could  do,  he  would  creep  away  on  to  the  bare  floor  and  tug  away  at 
the  frock  of  a  babe,  who,  though  only  a  few  weeks  older,  was  a  vast 
deal  graver.  This  was  Oceanus,  son  of  Stephen  Hopkins,  who  was 
disposed  to  sit  quietly  on  his  father's  knee,  looking  up  occasionally 
with  a  serious  and  thoughtful  face,  and  then  down  at  young  Master- 
White,  as  if  wondering  now  that  young  gentleman  could  be  so  ex- 
ceedingly volatile,  when  everybody  else  was  thinking  and  acting  so 
very  soberly.  His,  too,  was  a  remarkable  birth — he  having  been  the 
only  child  born  on  the  passage  of  the  May-Flower.  Close  by  stood 
the  pale  widow  of  William  Mullins,  mournfully  caressing  the  child- 
ren. Just  beyond,  and  nearly  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  sat  Elder 
Brewster;  and  on  either  hand  his  worthy  coadjutors,  Dr.  Samuel 
Fuller  and  Captain  Miles  Standish.  Rounding  off  to  the  other  cor- 
ner, was  a  group  of  young  people,  now  and  then  whispering  together, 
but  evidently  held  in  constraint ;  and  moving  about  among  them  was 
John,  the  mischievous  son  of  Francis  Billington,  a  boy  of  fourteen, 
who,  from  his  sly  looks,  had  evidently  some  business  of  his  own  in 


486  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

the  course  of  operation.  And  presently  one  of  the  young  women,  in 
attempting  to  move,  revealed  the  nature  of  his  designs  ;  for  it  was 
ascertained  that  d  whole  row  of  girls,  and  three  young  men  were 
pinned  together  by  their  kerchiefs  and  coat-skirts.  A  suppressed 
titter  was  followed  by  a  grave  rebuke  from  the  Elder,  with  a  some- 
what sharper  one  from  Captain  Standish ;  and  the  young  offender 
was  seated  for  punishment  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  room,  from  which, 
however,  he  soon  contrived  to  steal  out,  with  a  look  that  seemed  to 
say  he  would  make  it  all  up  to  himself  presently. 

The  good  hostess  was  moving  about  in  all  directions,  seeking  what 
could  be  done  for  the  comfort  of  her  guests  ;  but  mostly  active  in  the 
remote  portion  of  the  apartment,  where,  by  another  fire-place  equally 
huge,  her  culinary  affairs  were  progressing. 

But  in  spite  of  all  these  little  incidents,  a  spirit  of  deep  sadness 
hung  over  the  scene ;  for  although  the  occasion  was  avowedly  a  fes- 
tive one,  did  not  their  very  coming  together  remind  them  more  forci- 
bly of  the  lost  ones,  who  were  sleeping  so  quietly  in  their  new  graves  ? 
They  were  a  company  of  bereaved  ones  ;  for  few  indeed  were  there, 
who  had  not  in  the  course  of  the  last  bitter  year,  been  invaded  by 
death  —  and  often  more  than  once,  in  the  very  bosom  of  their  own 
household.  But  while  they  had  held  themselves  in  readiness  to  sur- 
render their  own  lives,  if  need  were,  to  the  necessity  of  sustaining 
their  faith,  they  had  meekly  bowed  themselves  beneath  the  infliction 
whenever  kindred  lives  were  laid  on  the  altar  of  sacrifice.  And  thus, 
while  every  overt  expression  of  sorrow  was  studiously  avoided,  their 
joy  also  was  chastened-by  the  sufferings  they  had  passed  through. 

But  the  cheerful  fire  sent  out  its  warm  glow,  and  presently  in- 
fused a  more  genial  spirit.  Yielding  to  the  benign  influence,  and  a 
sense  of  religious  obligation  to  lay  their  sorrows  by  for  the  present, 
the  shadows  fell  from  the  fair  and  pensive  brow  of  Mistress  Carver  ; 
and  she  spoke  pleasantly  to  those  around.  Then  Captain  Standish, 
calling  upon  Stephen  Hopkins  to  sustain  him,  gave  an  animated  nar- 
ration of  some  of  their  late  adventures  among  the  Indians.  After 
this,  Elder  Brewster  read  a  letter  from  their  late  beloved  pastor,  John 
Robinson,  who  had  remained  in  Holland,  and,  at  length,  the  conver- 
sation became  general. 

In  a  brief  pause,  Edward  Winslow,  approaching  the  hostess  with 
that  air  of  couitly  elegance  which  was  alike  native  and  the  result 
of  refined  association,  and  bowing  low,  said :  "  Permit  me,  Mistress 


The  Primitive  Thanksgiving.  487 

Carver,  to  inquire  why  the  fair  star  of  this  evening  is  so  late  in 
making  her  appearance?  Methinks  if  she  could  not  have  seen  how 
a*nxiously  I  have  been  looking  for  my  sweet  young  sister-in-law,  she 
might  have  felt  the  attractive  power  of  other  eyes,  which,  for  the 
last  half  hour,  at  least,  have  seen  nothing  worth  looking  at  save  the 
bobbin  that  pertaineth  to  the  opening  of  yonder  door ;"  and  as  he 
spoke,  his  eyes  glanced  on  his  young  brother  John,  who,  blushing 
like  a  girl,  rose  and  went  to  the  window. 

-He  was  followed  by  Stephen  Hopkins,  who  remarked,  pointing 
to  the  woods  :  "  Yonder  is  hunting,  my  boy,  such  as  the  sportsmen 
of  Europe  never  dreamed  of."  "  Yes,"  said  Captain  Standish,  "  four 
of  our  men  have  gathered,  in  one  day,  game  enough  to  supply  our 
whole  company  for  a  week." 

This  was  said  to  give  an  idea  of  their  resources ;  for  the  young- 
er Winslow  had  but  just  come  over,  having  arrived  in  the  ship  For- 
tune, which  then  lay  in  the  harbor.  But  little  heed  did  he  give,  for 
at  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the  fair  Mary  Chilton,  who 
was  on  that  very  evening  to  become  his  bride,  entered,  escorted  on 
either  hand  by  her  maidens,  Deborah  Hopkins,  and  Mary  Allerton. 

The  blushes  of  the  fair  bride  were  happily  thrown  into  covert  by 
the  call  to  dinner.  After  an  appropriate  grace,  they  sat  down  to  a 
feast  of  all  the  good  things  their  position  afforded,  which  received 
additional  zest  from  the  housewifely  arrangements  of  Dame  Chilton. 

But  one  interruption  occurred  during  the  feast.  John  Billington, 
who  had  taken  that  opportunity  to  return,  placed  an  elder  stick, 
charged  with  gun  powder,  between  the  two  babies,  who  sat  playing 
amicably  together  on  the  floor;  and  presently  touching  it  with  a  light- 
ed twig,  produced  an  explosion,  which  delighted  the  little  Peregrine, 
astonished  his  graver  companion,  and  electrified  the  whole  company, 
besides.  The  mothers  flew  to  their  babies ;  and  a  general  excitement 
ensued,  during  which  the  young  offender  escaped,  not  without  many 
grave  prophecies  of  his  future  ill-doing,  which,  in  the  process  of  time, 
he  took  good  care  should  be  fulfilled. 

Equanimity  being  restored,  they  returned  to  table.  And  after  the 
feast  was  over,  they  sat  by  the  fire,  which  was  now  supplied  by  the 
addition  of  pine  torches  for  light.  They  sat  and  conversed  pleasant- 
ly together,  until  near  seven  o'clock,  when  the  marriage  tie  was  con- 
summated: after  which  the  social  atmosphere  sensibly  brightened. 
And  thus  did  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  keep  their  first  solemn  feast  of 
Thanksgiving. 


PERISHED      RACES 


BY    REV.   J.   D.    STRONG. 


Near  a  deep  dank  glen, 

Where  the  smiling  sun 
Never  kissed  the  tears 

From  the  weeping  noon, 
'Mid  the  graves  of  a  race 

That  have  passed  away, 
As  we  gaze  on  the  shadows 

That  around  them  play, 
With  the  sounds  of  a  rill 

That  goes  singing  hy, 
May  be  heard  deep  tones, 

Like  a  spirit's  sigh  : 
Doomed!  Doomed! 
Our  race  is  spent ; 
Will  none  lament  ] 

When  the  morning  breaks 

From  the  clasp  of  night, 
And  the  anthem  of  birds 

Greets  the  growing  light ; 
When  the  burning  sun, 

With  a  fierce,  bold  ray, 
Drives  the  quail  and  the  deer 

From  the  glade  away  ; 
When  the  night  woos  stars 

To  its  fond  embrace, 
Then  the  voice  floats  up 

From  the  depths  of  space : 
Doomed!  Doomed! 
Must  pity  sleep  ? 
Will  no  eye  weep  1 

When  the  spring's  soft  breath, 

In  the  fragrant  May, 
Warms  the  buds  into  life 

Where  the  young  leaves  play  ; 
When  the  autumn  airs, 

With  a  frosty  frown, 


Perished  Races. — Piety  and  Courage.  48  9 

Clothe  the  hills  and  glades 

In  a  russet  brown ; 
When  the  forest  wails 

And  the  dead  leaves  moan, 
Then  the  voice  still  cries 

With  a  raven  tone  : 
Doomed !  Doomed ! 
And  never  a  word 
Of  the  wrong  he  heard  S 

While  sun's  sweet  light, 

Like  the  breath  of  God, 
With  a  thousand  hues 

Bathes  the  springing  sod ; 
Or  the  King  of  Storms, 

In  his  warrior  wrath, 
Treads  over  the  fields 

His  desolate  path  ; 
Through  the  old  dead  pine 

The  hoarse  wind  sighs, 
And  the  same  weird  tone 

Forever  replies : 
Doomed  !  Doomed ! 
But  remember  God 
Still  holds  the  rod  ! 


Piety  and  Courage. — On  the  11th  of  October,  1797,  Admiral 
Duncan  obtained  a  splendid  victory  over  the  Dutch  fleet  off  Camper- 
down,  near  the  Isle  of  Texel,  on  the  coast  of  Holland.  For  this 
memorable  achievement  he  was  created  a  Viscount,  with  a  pension 
of  two  thousand  pounds  per  annum.  After  the  battle  was  decided, 
he  called  his  crew  together  in  the  presence  of  the  captured  Dutch 
admiral,  who  was  greatly  affected  by  the  scene,  and  Duncan  kneeling 
on  the  deck  with  every  man  under  his  command,  solemnly  and  pa- 
thetically offered  up  praise  and  thanksgiving  to  the  God  of  battles ; 
thus  strongly  proving  the  truth  of  the  assertion  that  piety  and  true 
courage  should  be  inseparably  allied,  and  that  the  latter  without  the 
former  loses  its  principal  virtue.  His  Lordship  died  on  the  4th  of 
August,  1804.  He  was  born  at  Dundee  in  Scotland  on  the  1st  July, 
1731.  S.  R. 


490  THE    HESPERIAN. 

The  Art  op  being  Happy  Every  Day. — Eesolve  every  morn- 
ing that  thou  wilt  that  day  give  some  fellow-creature  a  pleasure  ; 
that  thou  wilt  do  all  in  thy  power  to  make  him  happy.     Go  to  thy 
work  and  fulfill  all  thy  duties.     This  will  make  thee  gay  and  cheer- 
ful ;  for  an  honest  mind   produces   cheerfulness.     In   the  meantime 
carry  out  thy  resolve  whenever  an  opportunity  occurs.     Thou  wilt 
not  wait  long  for  it.     It  does  not  need  to  be  any  great  or  difficult 
thing  ;  do  it  only  with  a  friendly  look  and  a  sincere  heart,  and   all 
will  be  right.     Doubly  happy  wilt  thou  be  if  thy  neighbor  has  made 
the  same  resolve  as  thyself;  if  he  should  send  into  thy  house  or  into 
thy  heart  some   unexpected   pleasure.     The    most   beautiful  secret 
bond  of  humanity  is,  that  every  individual  should  reflect  how  short 
the  life  is  which  he  spends  among  his  fellows,  and  thus  endeavor,  as 
much  as  possible,  to   make    every  day,  every   hour,  productive    of 
what  is  good,  and  will  make  others  happy.     And  more  sublime  still 
is  this  love  when  it  is  made  to  operate  upon  a  community,  a  state, 
a  nation,  the  whole  of  humanity  !     This  reflection  gives  every  man, 
however  small  and  circumscribed  his  sphere  may  be,  an  inward  dig- 
nity, greatness  and  joy,  which  elevate  him  above  all  the  little  wor- 
ries, above  all  the  privation's  of  life,  and  unite  him  with  the  whole 
world — through  love. — Berthold  Auerbach. 


Curious  Coincidence. — Washington  was  born  February  22d, 
1732,  inaugurated  1789  ;  his  time  of  service  expired  in  the  sixty-sixth 
year  of  his  age.  John  Adams  was  born  October  19th,  1735,  inaugur- 
ated 1797  ;  term  of  service  expired  in  the  sixty-sixth  year  of  his  age. 
Jefferson,  born  April  2d,  1743,  inaugurated  1801  ;.term  of  service 
expired  in  the  sixty-sixth  year  of  his  age.  Madison,  born  March  5th, 
1751,  inaugurated  1809;  term  of  service  expired  in  the  sixty-sixth 
year  of  his  age.  Munroe,  born  April  2d,  1759,  inaugurated  1817  ; 
term  of  service  expired  in  the  sixty-sixth  year  of  his  age.  Thus,  five 
of  the  Presidents  of  the  United  States,  (all  men  of  the  Revolution) 
ended  their  term  of  service  in  the  sixty-sixth  year  of  their  age. 


A  Hint  to  Wives. — "  If  I'm  not  at  home  from  the  party  to-night 
at  ten  o'clock,"  said  a  husband  to  his  better  half,  "  don't  wait  for  me." 
""That  I  won't,"  said  the  lady  significantly,  "I  won't  wait,  but  I'll 
come  for  you."     He  returned  at  ten  precisely. 


PASSIONS     OF     ANIMALS 


BY    FANNY    GREEN    M'DOUGAL. 


By  attentively  observing  the  habits  of  the  inferior  orders  of  creation, 
we  perceive  that  all  of  them  which  are  gifted  with  the  power  of  pro- 
gressive motion,  are  agitated  by  the  same  passions  that  bear  alternate 
sway  over  the  human  heart.  As  it  is  most  essential  for  the  preser- 
vation of  species,  so  we  find  that  the  instinct  of  parental  affection  is 
not  only  the  strongest,  but  occupies  a  more  widely  extended  sphere 
of  influence. 

Predatory,  or  carniverous  animals,  must  be  cruel  and  blood-thirsty ; 
for  the  food  which  their  nature  craves  and  their  proper  development 
requires,  could  not  be  obtained  were  they  constituted  otherwise. 
This  instinct,  however,  is  seldom  exercised  in  mere  wantonness. 
Hunger  is,  generally,  the  only  stimulant  that  calls  into  action  their 
destructive  energies.  It  is  said  that  the  lion  never  attacks  any  prey 
unless  urged  by  the  cravings  of  appetite  ;  and  even  the  insatiable 
thirst  of  blood  which  the  tiger  exhibits,  is,  doubtless,  first  excited  by 
hunger.  Thus  we  see  there  is  a  limit  to  this  instinct ;  otherwise 
there  would  be  unnecessary  and  wanton  waste  of  life. 

But  certain  it  is  that  some  rapacious  animals  exhibit  an  unac- 
countable propensity  to  kill  more  than  their  necessities  demand. 
Ferrets  and  weasels  will  destroy  rabbits  and  vermin  without  any  re- 
lation to  their  own  appetites;  and  the  ichneumon  of  Egypt  carries 
on  a  constant  war  of  extermination  against  the  reptiles  by  which  it 
is  surrounded.  Wolves,  and  even  dogs,  when  they  get  among  a  flock 
of  sheep,  will  slay  far  more  than  they  could  possibly  devour  ;  and  the 
great-footed  hawk  of  this- country,  when  it  assails  a  flock  of  pigeons 
or  ducks,  will  sometimes  strike  down  a  considerable  number,  while 
it  carries  off  not  more,  perhaps,  than  two  or  three.  The  carniverous 
birds  are  generally  exempt  from  this  charge  of  wanton  destructive- 
ness  ;  and  even  the  shrike,  notwithstanding  the  ominous  sound  of  its 
popular  title,  the  butcher-bird,  if  it  kills  more  than  can  be  eaten  at 
one  time,  sticks  its  game  on  some  projecting  thorn,  where  it  may  be 
kept  until  called  for. 

The  next  cause  to  which  we  may  assign  the  vindictive  passions, 
or  injurious  instincts  of  animals,  is  that  of  jealousy.     This  is  always 


492  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

confined  to  the  males,  and  is  implanted  in  them  for  the  good  of  the 
species,  that  the  weak  may  be  destroyed,  and  the  strong,  only,  be- 
come the  fathers  of  their  race.  The  last  exciting  cause  of  the  fiercer 
passions  of  animals  which  I  shall  mention,  is  that  of  self-preservation, 
and  this  is  a  universal  instinct.  "  The  worm  will  turn  when  trodden 
on,"  is  a  common  adage ;  and  certain  it  is  that  this  instinct  is  im- 
planted in  animals,  otherwise  the  most  gentle  and  peaceful. 

The  North  American  bears  will  seldom  attack  a  traveller  who  re- 
frains from  molesting  them,  unless  urged  by  extreme  hunger ;  and 
even  the  Ursus  ferox,  or  grizzly  bear,  will  not  be  the  first  to  attack  a 
man  who  has  courage  to  look  him  in  the  face,  unless  for  the  reason 
named  above. 

The  bee,  and  the  vindictive  wasp  itself,  will  not  sting  unless  mo- 
lested, if  no  contingent  circumstances  excite  an  apprehension  of  dan- 
ger ;  and  even  the  savage  rhinoceros,  whose  horrible  rage  and  vin- 
dictiveness  are  proverbial,  never  exerts  them  except  in  self  defense ; 
and  thus  the  heroic  courage  and  daring,  which,  under  the  same  cir- 
cumstances, would  be  a  subject  of  eulogy  in  man,  in  him  are  unjustly 
coupled  with  these  degrading  epithets. 

The  ant-eaters  and  sloths  of  South  America  are  extremely  timid 
animals,  but  when  assailed  by  a  superior  force,  exhibit  a  tenacity  of 
grasp,  a  skill  in  the  use  of  their  claws,  and  a  perfect  abandonment  to 
the  one  exciting  instinct,  which  might  give  them  the  reputation  of 
being  savage  and  vindictive. 

But  since  all  animals,  in  a  higher  or  lower  degree,  have  been  fur- 
nished with  the  means  of  self-defense,  and  an  instinct  which  teaches 
them  how  to  use  it  to  the  best  advantage  against  their  natural  en- 
emies, is  it  not  really  unjust  that  they  should  be  thus  branded  with 
malevolence  which  more  properly  belongs  to  their  assailants  ? 

Thus  we  see  that  the  diversity  of  character  and  temper,  and  the 
variety  of  passions  that  agitate  the  human  breast,  are  not  altogether 
confined  to  our  own  species.  On  the  contrary,  very  many  of  the 
brute  animals  are  highly  susceptible  both  of  love  and  hatred,  fear  and 
courage,  anger  and  gentleness,  gratitude  and  revenge.  Their  medium 
of  expression  is,  indeed,  less  varied  and  copious  than  ours  ;  but  if  less 
eloquent,  it  is  also  more  patient  and  true,  and  consequently  less  lia- 
ble to  mistake  or  misconstruction.  The  earth  and  air  are  full  of 
sounds,  which,  to  the  intelligent  ear,  are  not  void  or  meaningless,  but 
every  one  of  them  bears  some  express  relation  to  the  wants  and  emo- 


Passions  of  Animals.  493 

tions  of  living  and  sensitive  beings  ;  and  even  when  there  is  no  voice, 
there  is  still  a  silent  language,  sufficient  for  the  expression  of  all  which 
it  is  necessary  to  communicate. 

Some  insects  convey  by  a  touch,  the  most  delicate  shades  of  in- 
telligence. Two  bees,  meeting  each  other,  cross  their  antennae,  when 
one  of  them  instantly  knows  that  they  have  lost  their  queen ;  and 
he  hastens  to  communicate  the  mournful  tidings  in  the  same  way  to 
others,  until  a  knowledge  of  the  catastrophe  spreads,  like  wild-fire, 
through  the  whole  community. 

Thus  the  ewe  and  lamb,  though  turned  loose  among  a  large  flock, 
always  recognize  each  other  by  the  voice.  The  little  one  knows 
the  call  of  its  dam,  however  distant  she  may  be,  and  it  skips  joyfully 
through  the  crowd  of  bleaters,  following  the  well  known  cry  that 
leads  to  its  mother.  By  studying  these  sounds,  we  obtain  not  only 
a  more  interesting  but  a  nearer  view  of  the  animal  world.  The 
sympathies  of  their  bosoms  are  thus  unfolded,  and  brought  into  di- 
rect communication  with  ours,  while  we  obtain  a  clearer  insight  of 
their  feelings,  motives  and  character. 

But  it  is  in  forest  scenes,  in  the  deep  umbrageous  groves  and 
woods,  that  we  find  this  natural  language  the  most  intelligible,  and 
the  most  captivating. 

A  thousand  varied  notes,  a  thousand  delicate  and  tender  trills,  a 
thousand  gushes  of  the  most  delicious  melody,  there,  salute  us  on 
every  hand,  and  each  one  of  them,  from  the  soft  cooing  of  the  ring 
dove,  and  the  exquisite  murmur  of  the  nightingale,  to  the  garrulous 
note  of  the  common  hen,  expresses  some  latent  emotion  of  love, 
fear,  or  hope. 

In  the  class  of  animals  which  are  most  nearly  allied  to  the  vege- 
table tribes,  we  can  detect  few  traces  of  feeling,  in  any  form.  The 
male  of  the  Cephabopoda,  or  cuttle  fish,  is  said  to  exhibit  a  wonder- 
ful degree  of  attachment  to  his  mate.  He  is  described  by  Bingley 
as  keeping  constantly  by  her  side  ;  and  when  attacked,  displaying  an 
obstinate  gallantry  in  her  defense,  so  chivalrous,  that  it  frequently 
involves  his  own  destruction. 

Among  reptiles,  the  male  of  the  common  Iguana,  though  usually 
very  gentle,  has  yet  a  warm  attachment  to  the  female ;  and  when 
she  is  in  danger,  will  defend  her  with  a  zeal,  and  obstinate  courage, 
worthy  of  Don  Quixote,  himself. 

In  birds,  the  passions  seem  to  be  much  more  acute  than  in  ani- 


494  THE    HESPERIAN. 

mals,  and  many  of  them  exhibit  the  true  connubial  sentiment,  in  the 
highest  degree  of  perfection.  The  turtle  dove  woos  his  bride  with 
a  sweet  and  plaintive  song ;  and  the  delicate  little  love-parrot  sits 
beside  his  mate,  and  feeds  her  from  his  own  bill.  If  one  dies,  the 
other  seldom  long  survives.  Many  others  of  the  parrot  family,  ex- 
hibit a  deep  and  lasting  affection  for  each  other.  Canary  birds  also, 
and  especially  the  ravens,  form  attachments  which  endure  for  life. 


KOSSUTH'S     PRAYER 

OVER  THE  GRAVES  OF  THE  FALLEN  ON  THE  BATTLE  FIELD  OF  KAPOLNA. 


Supreme  Ruler  of  the  universe,  God  of  the  warriors  of  Arssad,  from 

thy  starry  throne  throw  one  regard  on  thy  unworthy  servant,  by  the 

mouth  of  which  the  prayer  of  millions  of  men  is  raised  towards  heaven 

in  testimony  of  thy  infinite  power.     My  God  !  thou  sheddest  on  me 

the  brilliant  rays  of  thy  sun,  whilst  under  my  knees  are  buried  the 

bodies  of  my  brothers,  fallen  on  the  field  of  battle ; — the  spotless 

blue  of  heaven  spreads  over  our  heads  ;  but,  under  my  feet  the  earth 

is  red  with  the  precious  blood  of  the  descendants  of  our  fathers. 

May  the  powerful  and  glorious  rays  of  the  celestial  Pharos  vivify  these 

sepulchres,  and  cover  them  with  flowers  !     God  of  my  fathers  and  of 

my  race,  listen  to  my  supplications.     Let  thy  blessing  descend  on 

our  warriors,  by  whose  arms  the  genius  of  a  brave  nation  is  obliged 

to  defend  the  most  precious  of  thy  gifts  :  Liberty.     Aid  them  to  break 

the  irons  with  which  a  blind  despotism  seeks  to  bind  a  great  nation. 

On  the  hardly  closed  tombs  of  my  massacred  brothers  I  freely  bow 

my  forehead  before  thee.      Accept  the  bloody  sacrifice  which  has 

been  presented  to  thee,  and  may  it  call  thy  favor  on  our  country. 

My  God  !  suffer  not  a  race  of  slaves  ever  to  establish  themselves  over 

these  graves,  or  soil  by  the  presence  of  their  feet  .this  sacred  earth. 

My  Father !     My  Father  !  of  whom  the  mercy  is  infinite,  and  whose 

power  extends  over  the  heavens,  the  earth,  and  the  ocean,  let  one  ray 

of  thy  glory  reflect  upon  these  sepulchres  and  shine  on  the  face  of 

my  people.     Let  this  place  become,  by  thy  grace,  a  sacred  spot,  and 

let  the  ashes  of  my  brothers,  who  have  fallen  in  a  holy  cause,  repose 

here  in  an  eternal  peace.     Abandon  us  not  in  the  hour  of  want,  0 

God  of  battles  !     Bless  our  efforts  to  regain  that  liberty  which  is  an 

essential  part  of  thy  divine  nature.     In  the  name  of  the  whole  people 

I  address  these  praises  and  acts  of  grace,  which  are  one  to  thee. 


NEW    TEAR'S     HYMN. 


BY    HERBERT    C.    DORR. 

All  hail !  brave  hearts,  that  fight  life's  battles, 

Of  temporary  state  possessed, 
A  year  has  passed,  its  fleeting  pinions 

Are  folded  up  on  old  Time's  breast. 
Yet  here  in  space  his  march  still  keeping, 
He  binds  the  years  in  ceaseless  reaping. 

Ah  me  !  his  scythe  is  sharp  and  trenchant, 
It  cuts  our  heart-strings  on  its  way, 

And  earthly  hopes,  like  harvests  falling, 
Are  garnered  for  a  future  day. 

Yet  in  each  mind  a  kingdom  lieth, 

Where  hope  eternal  never  dieth. 

What  to  our  souls  are  years  fleeting, 

But  feathers  from  old  Time's  swift  wings, 

That  evermore  are  there  out-springing, 
Each  season  still  new  pinions  brings, 

Like  those  from  sea  birds  on  the  shore, 

That  washed  aside  are  seen  no  more. 

O,  brothers  !  life  and  death  are  shadows, 
That  passing  o'er  our  mortal  eyes, 

But  serve  to  hide  celestial  regions, 
Of  better  worlds  and  brighter  skies. 

Did  we  not  see  them  thus  obscure, 

Weak  hearts,  how  could  we  here  endure  ? 

Eternal  ruling,  ever  loving, 

God  our  Creator  gave  us  life, 
That  we  each  other  aid  by  loving, 

Helping  through  our  earthly  strife, 
Smooth  life's  footpaths,  each  in  kindness, 
While  we  wander  here  in  blindness. 

As  down  the  west  the  bright  sun  setting, 

Sinks  through  red  clouds,  like  crimson  blood, 

Our  dying  year  with  red  wings  dripping, 
Sweeps  many  off  for  our  great  good. 

May  our  new  year,  when  wars  shall  cease, 

Rise  like  to-morrow's  sun,  in  peace. 
4 


LANGUAGE 


It  has  been  a  question  among  philosophers,  whether  other  por- 
tions of  the  animal  kingdom  do  not  have  the  gift  and  power  of 
language,  to  some  extent,  as  well  as  man.  And  there  are  not  a  few, 
who  cast  their  opinions  into  the  scale  favorable  to  the  conclusion  that 
such  is  the  case,  for  it  is  evident  that  there  is  a  communication  be- 
tween many  kinds  of  animals,  by  means  of  sound  well  understood  by 
them.  If  we  view  closely  the  different  dialects  of  barbarians,  semi- 
barbarians,  and  civilized  nations,  we  shall  find  that  the  strength, 
beauty  and  comprehensibility  of  language  depend  in  a  great  measure 
upon  the  character  and  pursuits  of  these  respective  people.  The 
savage  of  our  western  wilds,  whose  wants  are  few,  and  his  pursuits 
without  variety,  has  a  language  composed  of  few  words,  for  he  finds 
no  necessity  for  more.  Yet  he  is  perfectly  intelligible  to  all  his  tribe 
or  nation.  And  so  with  all  nations  of  antiquity.  The  human  lan- 
guage was  a  perfect  barren  compared  with  its  present  profusion  of 
words  and  ideas,  except  among  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  where  arts, 
science  and  a  variety  of  civil  pursuits  were  followed.  According  to 
the  pursuit  was  the  character  of  the  language;  and  that  avocation  of 
a  public  nature,  such  as  commerce,  military,  agriculture,  or  the  polite 
arts,  which  gave  the  ascendency  to  either  of  the  three  great  human 
powers,  reason,  imagination,  and  passion,  moulded  the  language 
in  accordance  with  such  ascendency.  In  Greece,  when  intellect  was 
the  governing  power,  and  the  passions  were  kept  in  control  by  its 
force,  the  language  became  refined — and  hence  the  beauty  of  Greek 
poetry,  which  is  a  transcript  of  the  language  in  its  greatest  purity. 
The  language  is  the  reflection  of  the  moral  character,  and  hence, 
when  the  mind  was  under  the  control  of  passion,  language  assumed 
a  form  little  superior  to  brute  communication. 

In  eastern  countries,  where  the  aggrandizement  of  the  prince  and 
empire  was  the  chief  aim  of  the  subject,  and  splendor  in  all  its  phases 
dazzled  the  people,  imagination  was  given  full  power  over  the  lan- 
guage ;  and  hence  the  poetical  character  of  the  ideas  of  the  orientals, 
and  their  corresponding  fantastical  mode  of  expression.  As  mankind 
advanced,  language  assumed  more  symmetry,  strength  and  beauty. 

The  English,  or  the  Anglo-Saxon  language,  has  greatly  improved, 
and  its  improvement  apparently  kept  pace  with  the  increasing  refine- 


Language.  497 

menfc  of  the  English  people.  In  the  year  700,  the  Lord's  prayer 
begun  thus  : — "  Uren  Fader  thie  art  in  heofnas,  sic  gekalgud  thin 
noma,  to  cymeth  thin  rick  ;  sic  thin  whila  sue  in  heofnas  and  in  eatho." 
Two  hundred  years  after,  thus  : — "  Thee  ure  Fader  the  urt  on  heof- 
num  si  thin  namagehal-god.  Com  thin  sic.  Si  thin  willa  on  earthan 
swa,  an  heofnum."  About  two  hundred  years  after  this,  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  II,  it  was  rendered  thus : 

"  Ure  Fader  in  heaven,  rich 
Thy  name  be  hailed  eber  lich, 
Thou  bring  us  ty  michell  bliss  : 
Als  hit  in  heavenly  doe 
That  in  yearth  beene  it  also,"  &c. 

About  one  hundred  years  after,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  III,  it  ran  thus  : 

"  Fader  thou  art  in  heaven  blisse, 

Thine  Helye  name  it  wust  the  bliss 

Cumen  and  not  thy  kingdom, 

Thine  holy  will  it  be  all  don 

In  heaven  and  in  earth  also, 

So  it  shall  be  in  full  well  Ie  tro,"  &c. 

In  the  reign  of  Henry  VI,  it  began  thus : — "  Our  Fader  art  in 
heavens,  hallowid  be  thi  name;  thy  kingdom  come  to  thee  :  be  thee 
will  don  in  earth  as  in  heaven,"  &c.  In  1537,  it  began  thus  : — "  O, 
our  Father  who  art  in  heaven !  hallowed  be  thy  name.  Let  thy 
kingdom  come.   Thy  will  be  fulfilled  as  well  in  earth  as  in  heaven,"  &c. 


Like  flakes  of  snow  that  fall  unperceived  upon  the  earth,  the  seem- 
ingly unimportant  actions  of  life  succeed  each  other.  As  the  snow 
gathers  together,  so  are  our  habits  formed.  No  single  flake  that  is 
added  to  the  pile  produces  a  sensible  change  ;  no  single  action  creates, 
however  it  may  exhibit,  man's  character ;  but  as  the  tempest  hurls 
the  avalanche  down  the  mountain,  and  overwhelms  the  inhabitant 
and  his  habitation,  so  passion,  acting  upon  the  elements  of  mischief, 
which  pernicious  habits  have  brought  together  by  imperceptible  ac- 
cumulation, may  overthrow  the  edifice  of  truth  and  virtue. 

Times  of  general  calamity  and  confusion  have  ever  been  product- 
ive of  the  greatest  minds.  The  purest  ore  is  produced  from  the 
hottest  furnace,  and  the  brightest  thunderbolt  is  elicited  from  the 
darkest  storm.  Lacon. 


•'WAS    DEAD    AND    IS    ALIVE    AGAIN. 


Dead,  dead,  dead ! 
Soft  let  the  words  be  said. 
Lightly  above  her  tread  ; 
Still  in  her  lowly  bed 
Slumbers  the  fair. 

Weep,  weep,  weep ! 
Long  shall  the  maiden  sleep 
Down  in  the  narrow  deep; 
Angels  shall  ever  keep 
Watch  by  her  side. 

Heaven,  heaven,  heaven ! 
Vainly  the  foe  has  striven  : 
Lo  !  now  his  chain  is  riven  — 
Help  from  above  is  given; 
Jesus,  is  nigh. 

Blest,  blest,  blest ! 
Calm  is  the  troubled  breast ; 
Sorrows  no  more  infest; 
Safe  in  the  promised  rest  — 
Bosom  of  God. 


Poetry  comes  of  the  heart,  not  of  the  training,  and  in  its  highest 
development  is  of  the  heart  and  of  the  human  passions  and  emotions 
which  are  common  to  all  men.  Learning  which  could  read  the  secrets 
of  ages  is  nothing  in  this  region  in  comparison  with  the  insight 
which  can  penetrate  and  realize  the  secrets  of  the  soul ;  and  we  have 
as  little  right  to  insist  that  the  man  whose  faculty  it  is  to  open  up 
the  hearts  of  other  men,  and  give  utterance  to  their  inarticulate  agon- 
ies, should  be  trained  in  all  the  learning  of  the  Egyptians,  as  to 
demand  surgical  skill  from  the  soldier,  or  knowledge  of  the  craft  of 
war  from  the  priest.  The  power  of  the  poet  is  incommunicable, 
unteachable.  All  that  we  can  do  in  the  matter  is  to  find  out  whether 
it  is  genuine,  and  possesses  that  divine  intuition  which. is  its  title- 
deed  and  guarantee  to  the  confidence  of  men.  He  who  throws  light 
to  us  upon  the  heart  of  life — who  discloses  out  of  the  darkness  the 
thoughts  that  lie  unspoken,  the  trembling  thrills  of  passion  and 
human  sentiment  which  are  to  the  soul  of  humanity  what  air  and 
breath  are  to  its  outward  frame — who  breathes  a  miraculous  breath 
of  revelation  over  the  speechless  souls  and  places  in  which  hitherto 
no  utterance  has  been — is,  whether  scholar  or  collier,  a  true  poet. 


$!u    $il\tnu9'i    (SI**  tut. 


A  STORY  FOR  THE  NEW  YEAR. 


BY  MRS.  M.  D.  STRONG. 


Once  in  a  wide  green  land,  a  land  of  gardens  and  brooks  and 
flowers,  walked  a  little  child.  And  the  heart  of  the  child  was  glad, 
for  the  sunshine  was  warm  and  bright  in  that  land,  and  the  roses 
were  beautiful  and  fragrant  and  had  not  many  thorns,  and  the  brooks 
went  singing  over  the  stones  a  song  that  he  could  understand,  and  it 
was  very  sweet  to  him.  Other  children  there  were,  too,  walking  in 
the  same  way,  who  shared  his  plays  and  loved  him  and  were  loved 
by  him.  But  there  were  two  who  loved  him  more  than  the  children 
did,  who  watched  him  always  and  smoothed  every  path  for  him,  who 
broke  away  the  thorns  from  every  flower  he  plucked,  and  delighted 
to  supply  all  his  wants.  And  these  two  who  loved  him  so,  he  called 
father  and  mother.  It  is  true,  the  sky  that  was  so  blue  above  him, 
was  sometimes  overcast,  and  sometimes  there  was  a  storm,  but  the 
clouds  were  never  very  black,  and  the  storms  did  not  last  long,  and 
then,  when  the  glorious  sun  shone  out  again,  how  bright  and  spark- 
ling and  merry  every  thing  looked  ! 

Now,  the  great  land  was  divided  into  gardens,  between  which 
wound  a  river,  and  the  entrance  to  each  garden  was  by  a  bridge  and 
a  beautiful  gate.  And  the  little  child,  whether  he  was  studying  his 
tasks,  or  doing  the  work  given  him  to  do,  or  playing  merrily  with  his 
fellows,  was  still  going  on  and  on — ever  onward  and  never  backward, 
and  when  once  he  had  passed  out  of  a  garden,  he  could  never  enter 
it  again.  But  neither  he  nor  his  companions  ever  seemed  to  think 
of  this,  or  to  feel  &t  all  sad  when  they  were  leaving  one  of  the  gard- 
ens, but  they  all  pressed  eagerly  forward  with  laughter  and  shouts 
of  joy  over  the  bridge  toward  the  beautiful  gate  that  led  into  the  next. 

Walking  beside  the  child  in  every  pathway,  and  following  closely 
all  his  steps,  came  one  whom  he  did  not  see,  with  a  form  like  that  of 
an  angel,  who  was  always  writing — writing  in  an  open  book.  Every 
night  he  finished  a  page,  and  every  morning  he  turned  the  leaf  and 
showed  a  new  blank  page.  What  he  wrote  was  never  blotted  out 
and  never  rewritten,  and  he  never  turned  the  leaves  of  the  book  back- 


500  THE   HESPERIAN. 

ward.  When  the  little  child  was  meek  and  gentle  and  obedient,  the 
writing  in  the  book  was  very  fair,  and  the  letters  shone  like  silver; 
and  sometimes,  when  he  had  given  up  that  which  he  loved  to  please 
his  father  or  his  mother  or  to  make  his  playmates  happy,  or  because 
the  great  God  in  the  heaven  above  had  commanded  and  he  wished 
to  obey  Him,  the  page  glowed  as  if  it  were  set  with  stars,  and  the 
smile  of  the  angel-writer  was  so  sweet,  it  would  have  made  the  child 
happy,  for  many  a  day,  had  he  only  seen  it.  But  then,  alas  !  there 
were  also  very  many  pages  that  were  blotted  and  dark,  and  the  face 
of  the  angel  was  too  often  downcast  and  grieved. 

Sometimes,  this  unseen  one  would  whisper  in  the  ear  of  the  child, 
and  then,  though  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  words  came  up  out  of  his 
own  heart,  he  would  grow  thoughtful  and  earnest,  and  forget,  for  a 
moment,  his  games  and  the  merry  voices  of  those  that  sported  with 
him.  Once,  when  the  way  through  which  he  passed  was  very  lovely, 
and  every  bower  and  tree  and  gushing  fountain  was  dear  to  him,  he 
came  near  to  the  river  that  bounded  the  garden.  His  companions 
hurried  joyously  on,  but  his  spirit  was  sad  within  him,  and  he  wan- 
dered away  from  the  happy  crowd  into  a  lonely  path. 

"  There  may  be  many  more  gardens  through  which  to  walk," 
thought  he,  "  but  this  one  I  shall  never  see  again." 

Then  the  angel  touched  the  eyes  of  the  child,  and  he  looked  up 
and  saw  him  who  had  before  been  invisible.  And  the  angel  put  the 
open  book  into  his  hand,  and  the  child  read.  On  one  page  was  the 
record  of  a  day  of  peevishness  and  waywardness  that  had  so  grieved 
his  gentle  mother,  and  on  another  words  and  deeds  of  unkindness  to 
his  darling  sister.  He  had  forgotten  them  long  ago,  but  they  were 
every  one  written  down.  Then  there  were  the  days  in  which  he  had 
neglected  to  do  the  duty  he  should  have  done,  and  the  opportunity 
had  gone  by  forever.  Some  lines  there  were  that  sent  a  throb  of 
gladness  to  his  heart,  but  they  seemed  very  few.  And  when  the 
child  had  closed  the  book,  he  said  : 

"  May  I  not  go  back  and  walk  through  the  garden  again  ?  For 
indeed  I  knew  not  what  I  did.     Can  the  book  never  be  rewritten?" 

And  the  angel  of  the  old  year  answered  :  "  Never." 

Then  the  little  child  wept  long  and  bitterly. 

But  the  angel  said  to  him  :  "  Weep  no  more,  but  be  comforted 
and  look  over  the  river  toward  the  beautiful  gate  of  the  new  year." 
And  the  child  looked  through  his  tears,  and  he  saw  within  the  gate 


Children  s  Department.  501 

another  form  like  the  one  beside  him,  but  the  face  was  younger  and 
fairer,  and  radiant  with  its  exceeding  loveliness,  and  an  open  book 
was  there,  but  its  pages  were  all  unwritten  and  white  and  stainless 
as  fresh  fallen  snow.     Then  the  child  asked :  "  Who  is  this  ?" 

And  his  companion  answered  ;  "  It  is  the  angel  of  the  new  year; 
and  thou  canst  make  the  record  that  shall  be  written  in  the  book 
whatever  thou  wilt." 

And  the  child  dried  his  tears,  and  entered  in  at  the  beautiful  gate  ; 
but  his  heart  was  full,  not  of  the  gifts  that  loving  hands  showered 
upon  him,  nor  of  the  kind  wishes  that  were  strewn  like  pearls  in  his 
path,  but  of  the  angel,  and  the  book,  and  what  should  be  written 
therein. 


WHO    IS    LIKE    A    MOTHER 


BY   ANNE    K.    H.    FADER, 


Whose  care  is  like  a  mother's  care? 

Whose  eye  so  swift  arid  keen 
To  note  the  thousand  nameless  things 

By  other  eyes  unseen  ? 
0,  child  of  all  this  watchfulness, 

To  grieve  it  not,  beware, 
And  thanking  God,  be  sure  to  thank 

Him  for  a  mother's  care. 

Whose  pride  is  like  a  mother's  pride  % 

Whose  heart  so  bounds  to  see 
The  wreath  upon  her  children's  brows, 

Entwined  with  purity  ? 
O,  child  of  this  unselfishness, 

Do  all  a  child  may  do 
To  glad  the  eyes  and  cheer  the  heart 

Of  one  so  fondly  true. 

Whose  hope  is  like  a  mother's  hope, 

So  eager  and  so  bright, 
To  paint  her  children's  future  years 

In  tints  of  glorious  light  1 
O,  child  of  all  this  hopefulness, 

Strive  hard  to  realize 
Her  dreams  of  coming  good  for  thee, 

And  joy  that  never  dies. 


502  THE    HESPEEIAN 

Whose  love  is  like  a  mother's  love, 

Embracing  each  and  all, 
Forgetting  self,  fatigue  and  pain, 

To  list  a  loved  one's  call  ? 
O,  child  of  all  this  tenderness, 

Be  sure  thy  actions  prove 
Thee  not  ungrateful  for  the  boon, — 

A  mother's  deathless  love. 

Whose  prayer  is  like  a  mother's  prayer, 

So  earnest  and  so  strong, 
So  boundless  its  petitioning, 

So  pleading  late  and  long  ? 
0,  child  of  all  this  prayerfulness, 

To  slight  it  never  dare, 
And  thanking  God,  be  sure  to  tbank 

Him  for  thy  mother's  prayer. 
San  Francisco,  Dec.  1862. 


Jelly. — The  following  receipt  will  produce  a  fine  jelly  without 
cooking.  Can  be  made  of  Raspberries,  Currents  and  Strawberries. 
To  one  pound  of  fruit  take  one  and  a  quarter  pounds  of  sugar. 
Squeeze  the  fruit  thoroughly,  through  a  cotton  cloth,  then  through 
flannel.  Work  the  sugar  into  the  syrup  with  the  hand — when  well 
worked  pour  it  into  glasses — and  cover  with  paper  wet  in  brandy. 

Beossier  Cake. — Put  one  cup  of  milk  over  the  fire  to  warm — 
into  which  put  half  of  a  cup  of  butter.  Take  four  cups  of  flour,  and 
rub  one  teaspoonful  of  cream  of  tartar  into  it.  Take  half  a  spoon- 
ful of  soda,  dissolve  it  in  hot  water,  and  pour  it  into  the  milk  and 
butter;  have  two  cups  of  sugar  in  a  bowl;  pour  the  milk,  butter, 
and  soda  on  to  it,  then  stir  into  the  flour.     Stir  very  hard.     No  eggs. 

Sweet  Potato  Pudding  for  Christmas. — Boil  the  potatoes,  sift 
through  a  sieve  or  mash  very  fine  while  warm,  then  weigh  one  pound 
of  potatoes,  one  of  butter,  one  of  sugar,  ten  eggs.  Spice  as  you 
please.     Rub  butter  and  sugar  together. 

Plum  Cake. — One  pound  of  flour,  one  of  sugar,  little  less  than  a 
pound  of  butter,  eight  eggs,  two  pounds  of  currants,  one  pound  of 
raisins,  half  a  pound  of  citron,  two  nutmegs,  a  wine  glass  of  brandy. 
Cloves  and  mace  at  discretion. 


ttmnufi  jaf  gyrtbivn* 


DIRECT    FROM   PARIS. 


Chere  Amie. — Foulards  this  season  are  pre-eminently  in  favor.  The 
dress  of  foulard,  the  peignoir,  the  burnous,  are  universally  adopted. 
Very  beautiful  tissus  d'Inde  are  of  gold,  mais,  dust  colors  in  plain  shades, 
forming  dresses  more  or  less  elegant,  according  to  the  trimming.  Skirt  of 
plain  foulard  is  trimmed  with  two  narrow  flounces,  fluted ;  veste  burnous  or 
saute-en-barque,  also  with  narrow  frill,  may  be  worn  as  the  most  elegant  as 
well  as  the  more  simple  toilette.  Another  style  has  a  large  design  in  sou- 
tache, forming  wreaths  ;  the  saute-en-barque,  corsage  and  veste  according 
with  the  dress.  For  evening  wear,  very  pretty  foulards  are  with  white 
grounds,  covered  with  small  bouquets  of  colored  flowers  ;  these  form  charm- 
ing dresses  for  young  ladies,  with  the  ceinture  corsage  terminating  behind  by 
two  long  floating  ends.  If  ornamented  with  the  usual  two  small  flounces, 
they  are  edged  by  white  or  colored  taffetas  ;  if  the  body  is  low,  a  little  fichu  of 
tulle,  trimmed  with  lace  or  blond,  is  worn  with  the  ceinture.  The  present  style 
of  fichu  does  not  reach  to  the  waist;  it  is  open,  and  forms  a  short  pelerine, 
and  the  two  points  terminate  in  front,  always  leaving  the  fichu  open;  with 
these  white  foulards  sprigged  ;  when  the  body  is  low,  a  veste  of  embroidered 
muslin  is  worn,  trimmed  with  lace,  or  ruche  of  muslin  having  lace  edge. 

Robes  of  foulard,  as  well  as  alpaca  and  cachemire,  are  ornamented  with 
gimps ;  foulards  are  also  trimmed  with  black  taffetas.  Those  of  nankeen 
color  have  three  little  frills  fulled  of  black  taffetas,  or  bands  of  black  taffetas, 
relieved  by  a  very  narrow  lace.  Those  of  fawn  color,  or  light  chocolate,  are 
similarly  trimmed.  The  foulards  of  plain  colors  seem  this  season  to  be  pre- 
ferred ;  cream  color,  Solferino,  strawberry,  violet,  etc.  The  Pekins  are  of 
maroon  and  black,  violet,  brown,  blue,  green,  etc.  The  fall  materials  consist 
of  different  kinds  ;  for  the  warm  days  there  is  barege  and  thin  materials,  for 
cold  or  damp  weather  foulards,  which,  indeed,  suit  every  season  ;  taffetas 
d'ete  of  light  colors,  and  various  fabrics  of  mohair,  etc.,  with  white  jean, 
nankin,  or  gray,  braided  or  trimmed  with  galons. 

To  vary  the  trimmings  of  these  neglige  dresses  is  a  constant  necessity, 
and  requires  tact  to  suit  them  to  the  various  materials.  How,  it  is  often 
asked,  must  an  alpaca  be  trimmed  1  a  gauze  dress  1  a  taffetas  or  muslin, 
without  incurring  great  expense  1  The  reply  is,  that  a  dress  of  alpaca  or 
foulard  is  trimmed  with  taffetas,  or  the  same  material,  placed  on  in  bands  of 
black  taffetas  or  small  ruches,  sometimes  in  diagonal  bands.  Alpaca  or  fawn, 
iron  gray,  or  nankin,  may  have  two  bands  of  taffetas  of  the  same  color  on 
the  front  of  the  skirt  en  redengot ;  they  are  joined  by  large  flat  buttons  of 
the  same  material ;  the  body  is  similarly  trimmed.     The  prettiest  trimming 


504  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

for  a  high  body  is  of  taffetas,  cut  on  the  bias  obout  a  quarter  of  a  yard  wide, 
simulating  a  veste ;  this  band  also  encircles  the  bottom  of  the  corsage,  in 
rounded  point  in  front.  This  trimming  is  also  very  pretty  with  grelots  of 
the  same  color,  or  aiguillettes ;  but  the  latter  are  only  used  when  the  veste 
is  apart  from  the  waistcoat. 

The  pagoda  sleeve  is  no  longer  worn  ;  it  is  replaced  by  the  Zouave  sleeve, 
the  form  of  which  is  known,  without  revers,  and  open  to  the  elbow,  trimmed 
as  the  body.  For  gauze  de  Chambery,  flounces  and  bands  put  on  altern- 
ately, are  used,  the  bands  having  ruches,  the  body  square  with  cannezous. 
White  muslin  are  made  with  very  wide  insertions  of  colored  ribbon,  covered 
by  embroidered  muslin.  Another  very  pretty  style  for  young  persons  is  of 
white  tarlatane  over  pink  or  lilac,  with  tucks,  trimmed  with  narrow  lace  or 
guipure.  Long  ceintures,  tying  behind,  are  worn  by  young  persons.  Some 
are  of  black  or  red  velvet,  worn  on  dresses  of  tarlatane  or  tulle  ;  on  silk 
dresses  they  are  of  the  same  color. 

At  this  period  of  the  year  there  is  not  much  change  in  the  fashionable 
world,  particularly  in  millinery.  The  canotier  hat  seems  the  only  one  used, 
and  bonnets  continue  much  the  same  in  style,  except  that  there  is  a  tendency 
to  incline  the  fronts.  At  present  the  straw  bonnet  is  ornamented  by  tulle 
bouillonne,  with  marabout  feathers.  The  paille  de  riz,  with  red  and  black 
aigrette,  and  string  of  the  same  colors,  the  edge  of  the  bonnet  having  a  red 
and  black  ruche.  White  straws  are  ornamented  by  field  poppies  and  black 
feathers,  or  a  head  of  hydrangea,  with  black  ribbon,  black  being  still  as 
fashionable  as  ever. 

The  camails,  or  round  cloaks,  are  ornamented  with  gimps.  One  of  white 
cachemire  was  with  bands  of  guipure,  and  macarons  of  black  gimp,  termin- 
ating with  chenille  fringe ;  others  are  with  bugles  and  chenille.  But  the 
burnous  and  the  saute-en-barque  are  almost  the  only  outdoor  toilette  worn  at 
this  moment.  Shawls  seem  a  little  out  of  favor,  but  we  think  only  for  the 
moment.  The  saute-en-barques,  so  long  as  the  weather  continues  warm,  will 
be  the  same  as  the  dress  ;  later,  they  will  be  of  black  silk,  or  the  same  as 
the  dress.  Those  of  black  taffetas  gros  grains,  generally  trimmed  with  a  thick 
ruche  pinked,  but  on  all  round  merely  serving  to  ornament  or  finish  different 
parts.  Yours,  truly,  Mrs.  Day. 

Description  of  the  Bridal  Robe  De  Ohambre — [as  seen  on  1st  page.) 
To  be  made  of  violet  merino,  or  pale  buff  wool  delaine.  In  either  color  the 
trimming  should  be  black  braid,  and  the  pattern  in  engraving  is  very  beauti- 
ful. The  skirt  is  open  and  trimmed  down  with  quilted  ruffle  of  same — the 
ruffle  not  braided,  but  chain-stitched  with  coarse  silk  by  machine.  The 
trimming  is  continued  on  bottom  of  skirt,  cut  in  shallow  scollops.  The 
petticoat  should  be  jaconet  or  lawn,  with  ruffle  at  bottom,  same  width  as  on 
the  wrapper';  then  a  cluster  of  tucks ;  the  first  ruffle  and  cluster  of  tucks 
carried  all  around  the  skirt,  the  rest  alternately  a  ruffle  and  cluster  of  tucks  ; 


New  Publications.  505 

extend  up  the  front  breadth  only.     The   sleeve  nai-row — the   same  as  plain 
pattern  accompanying  magazine — without  the  piece  that  widens  it  to  a  "flow." 

Cloaks. — A  great  variety  of  the  latest  and  most  beautiful  styles  of  cloak 
patterns  have  just  been  received  by  S.  0.  Brigham  &  Co.,  Ill  Montgomery 
street.  We  were  also  shown  a  new  style  of  Garibaldi  shirt,  and  Spanish 
waist,  more  tasty  and  recherche  than  anything  of  the  kind  ever  before  intro- 
duced. 


NEW    PUBLICATIONS 


Call  at  Roman's.  —  The  genial  gift  season  of  Christmas  and  New 
Years  is  at  hand,  and  what  is  more  appropriate  than  Books  for  souvenirs  to 
our  loved  ones.  An  assortment  not  surpassed,  from  old  Fleet  street,  London, 
to  the  shores  of  the  Pacific,  will  be  found  at  Roman  &  Co.'s,  417  and  419, 
Montgomery  street.  Several  of  great  merit  are  lying  upon  our  table,  worthy 
of  a  quiet  and  thorough  reading,  to  which  we  can  only  give  a  hasty  notice. 

BRiseE. — The  scenes  of  a  volume  bearing  this  title,  are  laid  in  our  own 
country,  and  fraught  with  thrilling  incidents,  will  be  read  with  interest  by 
all.  It  has  an  air  of  romance,  and  yet  is  true  to  life — life  with  its  sombre 
shades  and  its  heart-sorrows.  A  work  of  power,  peculiarly  terse  in  style ; 
and  in  the  working  out  of  the  narrative,  and  in  the  delineation  of  character, 
great  dramatic  power  is  exhibited. 

Miriam. — A  Story  of  Kentucky  Life,  by  a  highly  gifted  and  popular 
Author.  Both  sex  and  individuality  are  impressed  on  every  page.  It  has 
much  of  the  peculiar  grace  and  power  of  the  true  woman's  hand  and  heart, 
accompanied  by  a  fertile  and  vigorous  intellect.  The  most  popular  and  pow- 
erful works  of  this  class  that  have  appeared  for  several  years,  have  been  pro- 
duced by  female  authors.  There  is  now  a  strong  reactive  force  setting  up- 
ward in  favor  of  woman,  and  the  day  is  not  distant  when  due  merit  to  the 
mental  capacity  for  the  Arts  and  Sciences  will  be  awarded  to  the  sex.  From 
the  time  when  the  daughter  of  Dibutades  originated  the  Art  of  Drawing,  from 
which  her  father  modeled  in  clay — hence  Sculpture — down  to  Maria  Goeta- 
na  Agnesi,  who  filled  the  Professorship  of  Mathematics  in  the  University  at 
Bologna,  to  Rosa  Bonheur  of  the  present,  who  in  her  department  rivals  all 
her  compeers,  this  meed  has  not  been  granted.  The  first  writer  in  Califor- 
nia, whether  in  prose  or  poetry,  fiction  or  philosophy,  is  a  woman,  and  if  her 
strength  of  body  (for  she  is  an  invalid)  were  equal  to  her  force  of  mind,  few, 
if  any,  of  the  living  writers  could  successfully  compete  with  her.  And  our 
Virginia  sister,  from  whose  mine  of  mind,  rich,  sparkling,  flashing  thoughts 
and  teachings  of  deep  truths  fill  the  pages  of  Miriam,  occupies  an  elevated 
stand-point  in  the  ranks  of  American  authors. 


506  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

Stories  op  the  Woods. — This  is  a  book  for  juveniles,  composed  of  se- 
lections from  the  popular  works  of  our  American  novelist,  J.  Fenimore  Coop- 
er, and  contains  a  varied,  graphic,  and  intensely  interesting  series  of  narra- 
tives of  frontier  life. 

The  Gorilla  Hunters — By  B.  M.  Ballantyne,  is  filled  with  thrilling 
accounts  of  hair-breadth  escapes,  wonderful  exploits  and  marvellous  events 
while  hunting  the  tigers,  lions  and  Gorillas  in  the  wilds  of  Africa.  A  book 
for  boys.  e.  t.  s. 

Norcross. — No.  6  Masonic  Temple,  Post  street — No.  5,  Masonic  Temple, 
Montgomery  street.  We  passed  an  hour  and  more  last  evening  in  this  su- 
perb establishment,  viewing  the  endless  variety  of  the  useful  and  beautiful 
just  received  from  Paris  and  elsewhere.  A  very  superior  article  in  the  way 
of  sets  of  merino  and  silk  under  vests  and  drawers  for  ladies,  woven  to  fit 
the  form,  with  high  necks  and  low,  long  sleeves,  and  short,  attracted  our  at- 
tention. Also  a  new  style  of  opera  hoods,  more  tasteful  and  becoming  than 
any  before  worn.  The  Camille  Sontage,  a  fresh  importation  from  Paris,  has 
taken  the  place  of  the  former  sontag  breakfast-shawl,  etc.,  and  is  a  vast  im- 
provement both  in  fabric  and  design.  Anew  style  of  jet  buttons  for  orna- 
ments and  fastenings  for  cloaks.  Any  gentleman  wishing  to  make  his  wife 
or  friend  a  Christmas  present,  cannot  do  better  than  to  call  on  Mrs.  Norcross 
and  select  a  French  mouchoir  case,  containing  handkerchiefs  of  exquisite  tex- 
ture and  finish.  The  case  is  of  embroidered  satin,  and  a  never-failing  per- 
fume is  quilted  in  the  lining  of  the  lid  of  the  box.  In  tbe  regalia  rooms  on  Post 
street  we  were  dazzled  by  the  imposing  array  of  toys.  Drums,  guns,  wheel-bar- 
rows, boxes  of  blocks  for  model  building,  dolls  of  every  size  and  fashion  with 
furniture  for  their  parlors,  bed-rooms  and  kitchens,  farm-houses,  forest  trees, 
etc.,  and  last  though  not  least,  miniature  pianos.  One  can  think  of  nothing, 
dream  of  nothing  for  the  holidays,  that  may  not  be  found  in  the  Norcross  es- 
tablishment, Masonic  Temple.  E.  T.  s. 

Notice. — We  bespeak  the  patronage  of  our  friends  for  Mrs.  M.  A.  Hes- 
lep, whose  card  will  be  found  in  our  advertising  pages.  We  know  that  Mrs. 
Heslep  excels  in  fitting  dresses,  and  are  confident  that  all  who  go  to  her  will 
be  more  than  gratified.  Her  gentle  and  lady-like  manners  are  one  of  the 
many  inducements  to  prompt  one  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Heslep.  E.  t.  s. 

Stewart's  Stove. — We  have  examined  with  unusual  interest  the  stove 
described  by  a  lady  correspondent  in  our  last  number.  On  receiving  her 
communication,  we  were,  at  first,  a  little  incredulous,  and  inclined  to  doubt 
the  propriety  of  publishing  her  article,  but  an  examination  has  convinced  us 
that  the  truth  was  but  half  told.  That  stove  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable inventions  of  the  age,  and  is  destined  to  supersede  all  others  for  cul- 
inary purposes.  We  cannot  do  our  readers  a  greater  kindness  than  to  advise 
them  to  call  at  No.  422,  Kearny  street,  and  see  for  themselves.  J.  D.  s. 


<&ftitfit9#  8x-ftf#« 


What  lesson  for  us  have  the  old  and  the  new  year  ?  For  what  were  the  ev- 
olutions of  the  heavenly  bodies  designed  1  What  is  the  significance  of  those 
"lights  in  the  firmament  of  heaven  to  divide  the  day  from  the  night?"  Why 
is  time  measured  off  and  defined  into  yearly,  monthly,  and  daily  epochs  by 
the  sun,  moon  and  earth  ]  A  general  answer  to  these  inquiries  may  be  found 
in  the  adaptation  of  the  structure  and  government  of  the  universe  to  the  na- 
ture and  wants  of  its  inhabitants.  These  periodic  cycles  of  time  have  an  in- 
timate connection  with  the  economy  of  human  life,  and  a  direct  reference  to 
all  our  pursuits  and  interests.  Were  our  nature,  and  the  nature  of  things  to 
remain  unchanged,  and  they  to  be  abolished,  the  world  would  become  a  wreck, 
and  animal  life  would  cease.  Aside  from  their  moral  discipline,  these  divis- 
ions of  the  year  are  crowned  with  blessings,  bringing,  as  they  do,  the  seasons 
in  their  round,  the  virgin  skies,  the  balmy  breezes  and  seed-time  of  spring, 
the  heat  and  growth  of  summer,  the  bracing  airs  and  ripening  fruits  of  au- 
tumn, and  the  wild  winds  and  drifting  snows  of  winter,  which  wrap  nature 
in  a  garment  of  repose,  to  recruit  her  exhausted  powers  and  to  prepare  her 
for  the  bursting  forth  of  a  new  and  more  vigorous  life.  They  are  adapted  to 
the  situation  and  wants  of  our  bodies,  and  have  direct  reference  to  the  well- 
being  of  animal  life. 

But  in  uses  spiritual  and  moral  they  have  the  most  beautiful  significance. 
It  was  for  these  ends  that  they  were  especially  appointed  "  to  be  for  signs 
and  for  seasons,  and  for  days  and  years."  Suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  no 
such  divisions  of  time  had  been  made,  but  that  time  had  been  constituted  one 
continuous  flowing  on  toward  eternity,  uninterrupted  by  events,  unvaried  by 
periodic  changes,  and  measured  only  by  the  succession  of  our  own  thoughts ; 
suppose  there  had  been  no  years,  no  months,  and  no  days  to  teach  us  the 
finite  nature  of  things,  and  to  point  us  to  the  period  when  these  should  be  no 
more  ;  what  would  have  been  the  effect  on  our  character  ?  We  should  have 
remained  or  become  a  stupid  race.  We  could  have  formed  no  fixed  plans  for 
life  ;  or,  if  we  had  formed  them,  we  could  never  have  discovered  the  arrival 
of  the  moment  fixed  for  their  execution.  We  could  have  had  no  weeks  and 
no  Sabbath,  with  the  blessings  and  training  it  brings  us.  Nor  could  we  at 
any  time  have  determined  how  much  of  our  life  had  already  past,  nor  when 
we  should  probably  go  down  to  the  grave.  With  our  present  disposition  to 
deceive  ourselves  in  regard  to  the  length  and  true  mission  of  life,  even  when 
we  had  passed  the  period  known  as  "  three-score  years  and  ten,"  we  mi°\ht 
possibly  have  imagined  ourselves  to  be  still  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  but  just 
entering  on  a  life  of  which  we  could  form  no  definite  conception.  There  had 
then  been  but  little,  if  anything,  to  arrest  our  thoughts  and  to  fix  them  on 


508  THE    HESPERIAN. 

the  object  to  be  secured  by  living,  and  still  less  to  spur  us  on  to  its  attain- 
ment. Among  the  Hawaiian  Islanders,  and,  if  we  mistake  not,  among  most 
people  wbo  live  in  the  torrid  zone,  wbere  the  seasons  are  not  sharply  defined 
by  the  progress  of  the  sun  in  his  orbit,  but  where  the  vegetation,  the  scenery 
and  the  climate  are  nearly  or  quite  the  same  throughout  the  year,  the  people 
have  become  so  insensible  to  the  flight  of  life,  and  so  regardless  of  its  true 
interests,  that  not  one  in  a  hundred  of  them  can  tell  how  old  he  is,  or  when 
the  most  important  events  in  his  history  took  place.  Now,  if  the  peoples  who 
have  these  same  divisions  of  time  with  ourselves,  and  the  same  signs  and  sea- 
sons, but  have  them  less  sharply  defined,  become  so  thoughtless  and  stupid  un- 
der an  uninterrupted  uniformity  of  scenery  and  climate,  who  can  tell  what  men 
would  be,  if  these  divisions  or  cycles  of  duration,  now  measured  by  the  orbs  of 
heaven,  were  abolished,  and  there  were  no  periodic  succession  of  events  in  our 
experience  1  It  would  certainly  have  a  benumbing,  stupifying,  deadening  influ- 
ence on  our  character  and  life.  Under  the  present  order  of  nature,  perhaps  the 
most  efficient  motive  we  have  to  arouse  us  from  inactivity  and  to  impel  us  to  re- 
flect earnestly  on  the  flight  of  life,  is  the  periodic  cycles  into  which  time  is  divi- 
ded. As  we  see  the  swift  years  rolling  away  one  by  one,  who  can  regard  them 
with  indifference  ]  And  as  the  months,  the  weeks  and  the  days  rapidly  glide  by, 
never  more  to  return,  who  is  not  sometimes  made  to  feel  that  we  are  fast 
nearing  the  line  that  bounds  the  visible  and  the  known  %  The  swift  arrival 
and  departure  of  these  periodic  changes  are  adapted  to  affect  deeply  every 
sober-thoughted  man.  As  the  rock  in  the  river's  bed  arrests  the  rushing 
waters  and  causes  them  to  linger  in  evolutions  around  itself,  so  these  points 
in  the  rush  and  flight  of  time  arrest  our  thoughts  and  compel  them  to  eddy 
around  the  great  problems  of  our  destiny.  Who  can  regard  with  indifference 
the  issues  of  a  life  which  he  feels  to  be  gliding  swiftly  away  ]  Who  can 
contemplate  this  rapid  measuring  off  of  his  life,  without  reflecting  on  the  mo- 
ment when  it  shall  all  be  fled  ] 

The  very  orbs  of  heaven,  then,  have  an  intimate  relation  to  our  mental 
and  moral  economy,  and  are  constantly  uttering  and  re-uttering  in  our  ears, 
and  forcing  on  our  hearts,  the  most  weighty  moral  lessons.  To-day  we  again 
hear  their  voice  calling  to  us  from  the  close  of  the  old  year  and  from  the 
commencement  of  the  new,  reminding  us  that  life  is  limited,  our  years  num- 
bered, and  our  weeks  and  days  rapidly  dropping  off,  one  by  one,  and  that 
whatever  work  in  life  we  have  to  do,  should  be  done  at  once  and  with  all  our 
powers.  The  failures  of  the  old  year  should  serve  only  to  fire  our  hearts 
with  warmer  zeal  and  more  determined  energy;  and  as  the  rising  and  set- 
ting sun  of  the  new  year  counts  out  to  us  our  days,  they  should  be  days  of 
activity  and  of  duties  promptly  done.  Then  the  economy  of  our  life  Will  not 
be  in  vain.     We  shall  accomplish  our  destiny  and  write  our  life  on  the  ages. 


Editors   Table.  509 

UNFERMENTED     BREAD. 

In  some  things  Californians  are  a  hundred  years  in  advance  of  the  age. 
Quick  to  see  and  understand  utilities,  and  untrammelled  by  the  prejudices 
and  customs  of  older  countries,  they  cannot  hut  make  progress  in  the  arts  of 
living.  Probably  in  no  other  country  in  the  world  are  new  things  so  easily 
comprehended  and  so  quickly  adopted.  We  are  prompted  to  this  remark  by 
the  rapidity  with  which  Unfermented  Bread  is  becoming  an  article  of  diet. 
For  purity,  flavor,  and  wholesomeness  it  is  unrivalled  by  any  other  kind  of 
bread.  To  invalids  its  invention  is  as  timely  a  gift  as  manna  was  to  the  suf- 
fering Israelites.  By  our  own  experience  we  know  that  at  least  one  dyspep- 
tic stomach,  which  had  not  digested  fine  flour  bread  for  years  with  any  de- 
gree of  comfort,  now  finds  this  bread  a  compromise  between  resolute  appetite 
and  rebellious  digestion.  We  believe  it  ought  to  take  the  place  of  all  other 
kinds  ;  and  in  spite  of  the  opposition  and  evil  reports  made  by  interested  par- 
ties, we  are  sure  it  will  yet  be  the  staple  article  of  food  for  the  million. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

In  this  number  we  had  intended  to  commence  illustrating  the  Hesperian 
with  engravings,  but  the  sudden  rise  in  the  cost  of  printing  materials,  and 
the  consequent  increased  expense  of  publishing,  leaves  us  but  this  one  alter- 
native— either  to  forego  this  improvement,  together  witb  our  music,  for  a 
month  or  two,  or,  following  the  example  of  most  of  our  cotemporaries,  raise 
the  subscription  price  of  our  magazine.  We  have  chosen  the  former.  If  all 
of  our  subscribers  would  promptly  pay  their  bills  when  sent,  or  assist  us  in 
increasing  our  subscription  list,  it  would  enable  us  to  make  these  improve- 
ments at  once. 

Lost  Numbers. — A  certain  number  of  Hesperians  each  month  are  now 
regularly  lost  from  the  mails.  We  have  been  attempting  to  trace  out  the 
matter  for  months,  but  as  yet  without  complete  success.  We  have  our  eye 
on  two  Post  Offices,  however,  and  hope  soon  to  detect  the  guilty  party.  In 
the  meantime  those  who  fail  to  receive  their  copies  are  requested  to  commu- 
nicate the  fact  immediately  to  our  office,  and  they  will  be  supplied. 

Contributors. — In  this  number  we  commence  the  publication  of  "  A 
Story  of  California"  life,  by  Mrs.  Strong,  which  will  be  continued  through 
the  year.  We  regret  to  announce  that  the  present  chapter  of  Mrs.  Clarke's 
"  Grandmother's  Neighbors,"  is  the  end  of  the  series.  Full  of  thought,  and 
sparkling  with  gems  of  wit  and  fancy,  they  have  added  greatly  to  the  inter- 
est of  the  Hesperian.  "The  Burial  of  Jesus,"  will  be  read  with  deep  in- 
terest. The  little  gems  from  Mr.  Dorr's  pen  are  always  of  a  high  order  of 
merit.  We  wish  they  were  longer  and  more  of  them.  X.  is  a  new  contribu- 
tor whom  our  readers  will  welcome  to  our  pages. 


NOTICES     OF    THE    PRESS 


Hesperian. — The  Hesperian  for  December  is  a  good  number.     The  con- 
tributions are  of  very  considerable  merit,  and  it  is  well  edited.     We  are  par 
ticularly  pleased  with  an  article  by  James  A.  Daly,  entitled  "  Personal  Hap- 
piness promoted  by  Soul-Culture."     Mr.  Daly  is  a  young  student  at  Oakland 
College,  of  fine  promise  for  the  future.     He  has  genius. — Red  Bluff  Beacon. 

Hesperian. — We  are  in  receipt  of  the  December  number  of  this  maga- 
zine, now  edited  by  Mrs.  E.  T.  Schenck  and  Rev.  J.  D.  Strong.  The  pres- 
ent number  is  a  really  good  one,  containing  an  excellent  variety  of  reading 
matter,  in  the  shape  of  contributions  in  prose  and  poetry,  editorials  and  mis- 
cellany. The  Hesperian  is  well  worth  the  subscription  price — $3  per  year. 
— Mountain  Messenger. 

The  December  number  of  the  Hesperian  has  been  received.  There  is  a 
marked  improvement  in  this  magazine  since  it  has  passed  into  the  hands  of 
Rev.  J.  D.  Strong  and  Mrs.  Schenck.  It  is  purely  a  California  production, 
and  should  be  patronized  by  every  family  in  the  State*  The  patterns  accom- 
panying each  number,  are  alone  worth  the  price  of  subscription,  which  is  only 
three  dollars  a  year-  We  will  gladly  receive  subscriptions  and  forward  them. 
— Alameda  County  Gazette. 

The  Hesperian. — The  Pioneer  California  Monthly  has  reached  us,  for 
December.  A  hasty  glance  at  its  contents  induces  us  to  believe  that  this 
number  is  not  inferior  to  any  yet  issued.  It  has  a  large  amount  of  interest- 
ing and  instructive  original  matter,  and  its  selections  are  excellent.  It  is 
well  worthy  the  patronage  of  California  ladies. — Placerville  Daily  News. 

Hesterian — The  Hesperian  for  this  month  has  come  to  hand,  and  con- 
tains, as  usual,  patterns  and  general  reading  matter.  We  would  advise  all 
families  to  subscribe  for  it. — Knight's  Landing  News. 

The  Hesperian  for  December  comes  fully  up  to  its  usual  standard  of  excel- 
lence. It  is  peculiarly  a  ladies'  magazine,  and  contains  a  vast  and  valuable 
amount  of  information  on  topics  of  interest  to  the  fair  sex.  Each  number 
contains  a  pattern  of  some  mysterious  article  of  female  gear  which  excites 
our  curiosity  but  conveys  no  clear  idea  of  its  possible  use.  We  may  possibly 
find  out  one  of  these  days. —  Union  Advocate. 

The  Hesperian. — The  December  No.  is  an  unusually  attractive  one. 
We  notice  a  marked  improvement  in  this  Magazine  of  late.  The  articles  are 
written  with  more  care,  and  are  of  a  more  general  character.  The  contribu- 
tion by  the  associate  editor,  Rev.  J.  D.  Strong,  viz  :  "  Craters  of  the  Hawaii- 
an Islands,"  will  be  found  highly  interesting  and  instructive.  Our  friends 
will  do  well  to  subscribe  for  the  Hesperian  at  once,  the  present  number  being 
the  second  only,  of  the  new  volume. — Pacific. 

The  Hesperian  comes  to  our  office  regularly.  Its  general  character  is 
improving  under  the  editorial  supervision  of  Rev.  Mr.  Strong  and  his  asso- 
ciate.-1- California  Christian  Advocate. 


FULL    SIZE    PATTERN 


THE    PALMYRA 

Is  one  of  the  latest  received  styles.  To  be  made  of  cloth  or  silk.  For 
patterns  and  all  the  required  information,  call  on  S.  0.  Brigham  &  Co.,  Ill 
Montgomery  Street,  between  Bush  and  Sutter. 


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TINY     PETUNIA.  —  (Petunia   parviflora.  —  Juss.) 


PURPLE  WEDGE-SPOTTED  EVENING  PRIMROSE. 

(CEnothera  lepida. — Lindl.) 


THE     HESPERIAN. 


Vol.  IX.]  FEBRUARY,  1863.  [No.  4. 


ESSAY     ON    MUSIC. 


BY   REV.   J.   D.    STRONG. 


The  earth  is  a  great  music  box,  with  an  endless  variety  of  notes  and 
tunes,  suited  to  every  occasion  and  want  of  human  life.  Its  Archi- 
tect has  endowed  each  variety  of  matter  with  its  own  melody,  and 
impressed  on  the  whole  the  laws  of  harmony.  All  substances  have 
their  special  properties  for  the  production  of  sound  ;  and  each,  when 
struck,  vibrates  in  its  own  measure,  and  thus  gives  out  notes  of  pe- 
culiar character.  Iron,  brass,  tin,  and  the  various  kinds  of  wood, 
each  speak  in  their  own  language  and  utter  tones  peculiar  to  them- 
selves. No  form  of  matter  within  our  experience,  either  solid,  fluid, 
or  gaseous,  is  destitute  of  this  sound-producing  quality.  And  most 
substances  give  out  their  voices  spontaneously,  or  at  least  without 
the  help  of  any  animal  or  human  agency.  The  tornado  howls  in  ter- 
rific numbers.  The  thunder  rolls  in  solemn  grandeur  through  the 
heavens,  while  the  hills  catch  and  echo  back  the  sound  in  softer  re- 
verberations. The  ocean  utters  its  melody  in  a  deep  bass  that  can 
never  be  imitated,  while  the  gentle  breeze  sighs  out  its  numbers  in 
tones  as  sweet  and  low  as  the  voice  of  angels.  Thus  the  world,  and 
probably  the  universe,  is  a  grand  instrument  of  music,  ever  speaking 
to  the  heart  of  man  in  melodious  strains,  and  evidently  fitted  up  to 
draw  out  and  develop  his  more  spiritual  sensibilities,  and  to  satisfy 
his  deep  yearnings  for  the  beautiful  and  the  good. 

The  soul  is  responsive  to  these  conditions  of  music  that  are  im- 
pressed on  all  things.  It  has  a  sensibility  for  every  sound  and  sends 
back  an  answering  echo  of  feeling  to  every  note  that  vibrates  in  the 
universe.  There  is  a  wonderful  adaptation  of  the  structure  of  our 
nature  to  all  our  surroundings;  but  in  nothing  is  it  more  striking 
than  in  those  laws  of  harmony  which  are  written  on  our  souls  and  on 
all  substance,  and  constantly  pervade  the  inward  consciousness  and 


516  THE   HESPERIAN. 

outward  working  of  every  perfected  spirit.  And  the  fact  that  such 
provision  for  music  has  been  made  in  us  and  in  the  world  we  inhabit, 
proves  it  was  designed  to  occupy  a  prominent  place  among  our  means 
of  moral  and  religious  culture.  There  is,  indeed,  a  natural  and  his- 
toric connection  between  music  and  that  state  of  the  heart  which 
must  be  right  and  pleasing  in  the  sight  of  the  Infinite  Ruler. 

Music  subdues  the  vicious  and  malevolent  passions.  By  music, 
however,  is  not  meant  the  wild  screams  and  boisterous  howlings  of 
bacchanalian  revelry,  but  the  breathing  melody  of  accordant  numbers. 
That  is  the  voice  of  our  nobler  being  and  has  power.  It  weaves  a  spell 
of  enchantment  around  the  fiercest  natures,  and,  by  chains  softer  than 
substance  and  as  etherial  as  spirit,  holds  the  stormiest  and  most  ma- 
lignant passions  in  subjection.  It  lulls  to  rest  the  rage  of  anger  and 
revenge.  The  clamors  of  appetite,  like  the  low  notes  of  an  expiring 
tempest,  die  away  in  its  presence.  Its  influence  streams  in  on  the 
frozen  heart,  melting  away  its  cold,  hard  nature,  and  quickening  into 
life  every  genial  emotion.  No  unamiable  feeling  may  abide  its  pow- 
er. It  tames  the  most  barbarous  natures,  and  imbues  them  with  its 
own  meek  spirit.  It  chases  from  the  heart  the  demons  of  fear,  self- 
reproach  and  despair.  It  has  civilized  many  a  savage.  The  fabled 
Apollo  and  Orpheus,  who,  by  their  music,  are  said  to  have  tamed 
the  ferocious  Satyrs,  and  even  to  have  moved  trees  and  stones,  are 
but  the  testimony  of  antiquity  to  the  humanizing  power  of  musical 
numbers.  And  the  experience  of  the  ancients  in  this  respect  tallies 
exactly  with  that  of  the  moderns.  It  is,  indeed,  the  experience  of 
every  age.  By  thus  breaking  the  reign  of  depraved  passion  over  the 
heart,  music  prepares  the  way  for  nobler  impulses  and  a  higher  life. 
By  softening,  subduing  and  chastening  the  emotions,  it  brings  man 
into  the  conditions  of  a  moral  and  more  spiritual  manhood. 

Music  also  awakens  and  expresses  our  deepest  and  purest  feelings. 
Under  the  rough  discipline  of  the  world  our  sensibilities  become  ob- 
tuse and  constantly  need  some  incitement  to  activity  ;  and  nothing 
in  the  whole  range  of  our  experience  so  effectually  works  our  feel- 
ings as  music.  Our  spirits  are  Eolian  Harps  that  sing  in  unison  with 
the  sweet  sounds  that  breathe  amid  their  strings.  They  are  respon- 
sive alike  to  the  melodies  of  nature  and  of  art.  Who  has  stood  in 
the  trackless  forest  and  listened  to  the  solemn  strains  that  come  up 
from  the  deep  wild  wood,  or  in  the  mountain  glen,  where  the  dying 
cadence  of  the  wind  amid  the  trees,  the  hoarse  sounds  of  falling  wa- 


Essay  on  Music.  517 

ters  and  the  soft  tricklings  of  tiny  rills  speak  to  the  heart  in  tones  of 
untutored  melody,  or  on  the  ocean  shore  and  listened  to  the  wild 
roar  of  its  stormy  waves,  without  being  filled  with  emotions  too  ec- 
static and  sublime  for  utterance  ?  The  heart  that  remains  insensible 
under  such  influences  is  more  brutal  than  human.  Seldom  is  one 
found  with  a  nature  so  obtuse  as  to  listen  with  no  delight  to  this  great 
anthem  of  the  universe.  Artificial  music  has  the  same  power  to 
awaken  deep  and  tender  emotion  and  is,  perhaps,  the  most  efficacious 
of  all  influences  in  this  world  of  sense  to  work  our  feelings. 

Besides,  there  are  emotions,  desires  and  aspirations  which  no 
sounds  but  those  moving  in  musical  measures  can  express,  but  which 
burn  and  consume  the  heart  in  concealment.  No  dull  words  of 
prose  can  utter  the  deep  wail  of  the  penitent  heart  broken  for  sin, 
nor  the  song  of  inexpressible  joy  from  a  soul  conscious  of  unison  with 
the  All-Father.  Even  in  relation  to  earthly  objects  we  have  feelings 
which  no  language  of  words  can  make  audible  ;  but  especially  in  our 
moral  and  religious  moods  do  we  feel  the  necessity  of  some  more  ex- 
pressive vehicle  of  emotion  than  any  found  in  the  ordinary  forms  of 
speech.  Then  the  soul  must  breathe  itself  out  in  musical  tones  and 
accents,  or  be  crushed  by  a  grief  which  cannot  be  communicated. 

Music,  also,  tends  to  develop  taste  and  to  refine  it  to  a  correct 
standard.  By  taste,  however,  is  not  meant  the  arbitrary  affectation 
which  too  often  passes  under  that  name,  but  a  true  love  of  the  beau- 
tiful and  the  good.  And  by  subduing  passion  and  awakening  the 
deeper  emotions,  music  creates  a  delicate  sensibility  to  all  that  is 
lovely.  It  has  a  moulding  and  transforming  influence  on  ideas  and 
character.  It  refines  and  in  some  cases  creates  the  sentiments,  habits 
and  tendencies  of  the  heart,  and  exerts  a  controlling  influence  on  the 
life.  It  renders  the  whole  emotive  nature  alive  to  the  harmonious, 
the  beautiful  and  the  good.  This  result  may  not,  indeed,  appear 
conspicuous  in  every  case,  for  too  many  hindrances  now  arise  from  a 
badly  constructed  nature,  or  from  unfavorable  circumstances,  or  from 
a  false  education ;  yet  such  is  the  tendency,  and  in  some  degree  the 
result  is  uniform.  Thus  the  heart  is  prepared  to  take  on  the  condi- 
tions of  a  diviner  life,  and  is  made  to  aspire  to  and  yearn  after  the 
source  of  all  goodness  and  beauty  in  the  universe,  in  comparison  with 
which  the  goodness  and  beauty  of  earth  are  but  faint  shadows  and 
types. 

Thus  music  is  the  natural  ally  of  virtue  and  piety,  and  deserves  a 


518  THE   HESPEEIAK 

conspicuous  place  in  every  system  of  moral  and  religious  culture. 
True,  a  musical  taste  is  sometimes  found  in  connection  with  vile  de- 
pravity, and  the  most  delicate  strains  of  melody  are  often  made  to 
minister  to  the  grossest  forms  of  sensuality.  It  cannot  be  denied 
that  music  is  sometimes  leagued  with  the  spirit  of  evil ;  for  it  incites 
to  deeds  of  blood ;  it  rolls  onward  the  murderous  tread  of  legions  on 
the  battle  field  ;  it  provokes  to  the  halls  of  merriment  and  revelry  ; 
it  grovels  in  the  sties  of  debauchery,  and  lures  victims  to  a  doom 
worse  than  death.  Yet  these  facts  are  but  illustrations  of  the  gen- 
eral law,  that  all  noble  things  are  liable  to  perversion  and  abuse,  and 
may  become  not  only  loathsome  but  destructive.  The  fact  that  it 
does  not  in  every  case  minister  to  our  higher  nature,  no  more  proves 
that  it  was  not  designed  to  develop  man's  moral  and  religious  sensi- 
bilities than  the  perversions  of  appetite  prove  that  it  was  not  intend- 
ed for  our  good.  Nothing  is  to  be  judged  by  its  perversions,  but  by 
its  uses  when  fairly  applied.  Tested  in  this  way,  music  is  proved  to 
be  intended  for  the  development  of  all  that  is  noble  in  our  nature. 

It  may  even  be  said  that  music  has  a  historic  connection  with  vital 
religion.  It  has  always  formed  a  part  of  religious  worship.  There  is 
scarcely  a  sect  or  nation  described  to  us  in  history,  either  ancient  or 
modern,  among  whose  modes  of  worship  instrumental  and  vocal  mu- 
sic was  wanting.  The  use  of  instruments  dates  back  to  the  time  be- 
fore the  flood,  when  Jabal  invented  the  harp,  and  Jubal  the  organ. 
By  the  Jewish  ritual  music  was  made  a  more  prominent  part  of  religious 
service  than  before — or  rather  it  was  more  carefully  arranged  and 
more  scientifically  performed.  The  whole  tribe  of  Levi  was  set  apart 
for  this  service.  They  were  divided  into  choirs  of  singers  and  play- 
ers on  instruments,  "  one  answering  to  another  in  the  deep  wail  of 
grief  or  penitence,  the  soft  response  of  love,  the  lively  sweep  of  fes- 
tive gladness,  or  all  to  flow  together  in  choral  multitudes  of  praise 
that  might  even  shake  the  rock  of  Zion  itself."  All  kinds  of  musi- 
cal instruments  were  introduced  into  the  temple  service — the  cym- 
bal with  its  tinkling  melody,  the  harp  with  its  wail  of  sadness,  the 
psaltery  with  its  solemn  numbers,  and  the  cornet  with  its  loud  blast 
of  rejoicing.  These  joined  with  a  thousand  voices  sent  up  to  the 
throne  of  Heaven  a  strain  of  grand  and  triumphant  melody  the  most 
reverential  and  imposing. 

From  the  Jewish  temple  music  descended  to  christian  assemblies. 
Whether  at  first  in  these  assemblies  it  was  accompanied  by  instru- 


Essay  on  Music.  519 

ments  or  not,  we  have  no  means  of  knowing;  yet  from  the  known 
tastes  and  habits  of  the  Jews,  we  have  reason  to  suppose  so.  At 
least  they  were  introduced  into  christian  worship  as  early  as  the  mid- 
dle of  the  third  century,  for  they  are  then  incidentally  referred  to  by 
ecclesiastical  historians.  Since  then  they  have,  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent,  had  place  in  christian  choirs.  They  were  used  during  the 
age  of  the  Eeformation.  Luther  himself  is  said  to  have  been  a  skill- 
ful player  on  several  kinds  of  instruments.  Their  use  was  not,  in- 
deed, very  common  among  the  Puritan  Fathers,  but  whether  this 
was  due  to  conscientious  scruples  or  to  poverty,  we  are  not  informed. 
The  Catholic  church  in  every  age  has  bestowed  great  culture  on  this 
part  of  religious  service,  and  has  depended  on  it  for  effect  as  much  as 
.on  creed  or  ritual. 

Thus  music  appears  to  be  one  of  the  best  gifts  of  a  bounteous 
Providence,  and  it  should  be  carefully  cultivated  among  the  masses 
of  every  people  who  would  make  high  attainments  in  virtue,  piety, 
refinement  and  civilization.  Hitherto  it  has  been  too  much  neglect- 
ed by  Americans,  but  the  dawn  of  a  wiser  age  begins  to  appear  on 
these  shores,  and  ere  long,  we  trust,  music,  as  it  ought,  will  form  a 
part  of  every  system  of  education  in  every  school  from  the  Primary 
Department  to  the  University. 


EPIGRAM. 


"  God  help  me  !"  cried  the  Poor  Man  : 

And  the  Rich  Man  said  "Amen  !" 

And  the  Poor  Man  died  at  the  Rich  Man's  door 

God  helped  the  Poor  Man,  then  ! 


Says  a  contemporary  :  An  independent  man  is  one  who  blacks  his 
own  boots,  who  can  live  without  whiskey  and  tobacco,  and  shave 
himself  with  brown  soap  and  cold  water.  A  great  man  is  one  who 
can  make  his  children  obey  when  they  are  out  of  his  sight.  A  good 
husband,  comes  to  his  home  from  the  business  of  the  day  with  a 
smile  for  his  wife,  instead  of  a  scowl,  and  kind  words,  instead  of  grum- 
bling ;  he  feels  that  she  has  had  brain-wearying  cares  and  perplexities 
as  much  as  he  has,  and  that  the  duty  of  putting  on  a  cheerful 
countenance,  is  as  incumbent  upon  him,  as  it  is  upon  her. 


THE    ANGELS. 


BY    DUGANNE. 


ANGEL   OF   HOPE. 

I  HEAR  thy  wings,  my  sister, 

Though  the  night  is  dark  around  thee — 
Oh,  those  wings  are  drooping  heavily, 

As  if  the  tempest  bound  thee. 
Tell  me  sister — whither  now  ] 
Whence  and  wherefore  journey  est  thou? 

ANGEL   OF   SUFFERING. 

I  come — oh,  I  come, 

From  the  hapless  realms, 
Where  souls  are  dumb, 

Where  wrong  o'erwhelms ; 
From  the  land  where  the  Famine  hath  been- 

Hath  been,  and  will  be  again, 
And  wring  the  hearts  of  desperate  men 

With  slow,  consuming  pain — 
Till  souls  that  once  were  free  from  sin 

Are  black  as  the  soul  of  Cain  ! 
Famishing  mothers,  and  famishing  sires, 

And  sons  with  hearts  of  hate  ; 
Lighting  their  terrible  signal-fires, 
Piling  their  hovels  in  funeral  pyres — 
Lying  in  wait, 
With  hearts  of  hate, 
At  the  cruel  tyrant's  gate ! 
Earth  is  mighty,  and  earth  hath  room 

For  millions  of  souls  unborn  ; 
Harvests  smile  and  orchards  bloom, 

And  fields  are  heavy  with  corn ; 
And  yet  there  cometh  the  Famine's  doom, 
And  the  livid  Plague's  despairing  gloom, 
O'er  Erin's  land  forlorn  ! 

ANGEL   OF    HOPE. 

Heaven  helpeth — Heaven  helpeth — 
Though  the  clouds  may  darkly  frown ; 


The    Angels. 

Heaven  lifts  the  poor  and  wretched — 
Heaven  brings  the  haughty  down  ! 
Trust  in  heaven,  suffering  Angel : — 
Sorrow  seals  the  true  Evangel ! 

ANGEL   OF    SUFFERING. 

I  have  been  to  the  darksome  mine, 
Where  Albion's  infant  slaves 
In  wretchedness  toil — in  hopelessness  pine, 
From  birth  to  earth  ; — 
Nor  joy  nor  mirth 
From  cradles  unto  graves  ! 
Children  with  withered  hearts, 

And  maidens  with  never  a  maiden's  shame, — 
Toiling  and  toiling  till  life  departs, 

Living  and  dying  without  a  name  ; 
Living  forever  to  labor  and  labor, 
Cursing  their  lords, 
With  horrible  words, — 
Wrestling  with  brother,  and  struggling  with  neighbor. 

ANGEL    OF    HOPE. 

Heaven  is  mighty  !  and  God  is  good  !    . 
Little  of  love  is  understood  ! 
Yet  cometh  the  hour 
Of  Beauty  and  Power — 
Cometh  the  glorious  day — 
When  Right  shall  be  Might, 
And  Darkness  Light, 
And  Wrong  be  swept  away. 


Manners. — Among  the  most  valuable  distinctions  of  manners  are 
quietness  and  decorum.  Earnestness  and  decision  should  be  avoided, 
especially  by  the  young ;  anything  like  vehemence  of  assertion  or 
pressure  of  opinion  indicates  an  intolerance  of  the  independent  sen- 
timents of  your  companion,  and  goes  to  disturb  that  entire  ease  and 
freedom,  of  which  your  society  should  in  no  wise  deprive  him.  Com- 
posure and  ease  should  be  most  diligently  sought  by  every  one  who 
would  acquire  the  character  and  impress  of  condition.  Easy  manners 
are  not  only  a  mark  of  good  breeding,  but  the  effect  is  to  make  oth- 
ers feel  easy,  and  consequently  happy  in  your  society.  The  most 
rational  manners  are  those  which  render  people  most  comfortable  and 
make  the  conduct  of  intercourse  the  least  arduous. 


ON  THE  RISING  OF  SPRINGS  AND  STREAMS 

IN    CALIFORNIA,   BEFORE    THE    WINTER    RAINS. 


BY   H.    GIBBONS,  M.  D. 


It  is  a  subject  of  popular  remark  in  this  country  that  the  springs  and 
small  streams  begin  to  rise  a  long  time  before  the  setting  in  of  the 
rainy  season,  and  before  a  drop  of  rain  has  fallen.  The  common  no- 
tion is  that  the  rise  of  the  springs  has  some  relation  to  the  near  ap- 
proach of  the  rainy  season.  Although  I  have  had  no  doubt  of  the 
fact  for  several  years,  yet  the  demonstration  of  it  did  not  occur  to  me 
until  the  autumn  of  1858. 

Two  or  three  miles  east  of  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco,  and  run- 
ning parallel  with  the  Bay,  is  a  range  of  hills  about  one  thousand 
feet  in  hight,  the  summits  of  which  are  naked,  or  sparsely  occupied 
by  oaks  and  redwoods.  The  springs  and  small  streams  which  abound 
on  these  hills  in  the  winter  and  spring,  mostly  dry  up  in  the  course 
of  the  summer,  though  springs  and  swampy  spots  may  be  found  here 
and  there,  almost  on  the  very  summits,  through  the  whole  course  of 
the  dryest  seasons.  During  the  year  1858,  I  frequently  traversed 
the  hills  by  a  road  running  in  the  trough  of  a  crooked  ravine,  skirted 
by  a  pleasant  little  stream  which  started  from  a  spring  within  two 
hundred  yards  of  the  summit  and  increased  considerably  in  its  de- 
scent. The  dry  season  commenced  rather  earlier  than  common,  not 
enough  rain  to  lay  the  dust  falling  after  the  first  week  in  April.  My 
little  rivulet  continued  to  murmur  refreshingly  by  the  road-side  un- 
til July,  when  it  disappeared  in  places  ;  and  by  the  beginning  of 
August  it  formed  a  chain  of  swampy  spots  and  pools.  At  the  end  of 
August,  when  I  expected  to  find  it  almost  desiccated,  judge  of  my 
surprise  on  encountering  a  brisk  streamlet  about  a  mile  from  the  top 
of  the  hill,  at  a  spot  which  had  been  perfectly  dry.  From  that  time 
it  steadily  increased,  the  pools  being  connected  for  the  greater  part 
by  a  continuous  stream  on  the  10th  of  October,  though  no  rain  had 
fallen. 

Another  instance,  still  more  striking,  has  fallen  under  my  notice. 
One  mile  from  the  foot  of  the  hills,  towards  the  Bay,  the  county  road 
is  crossed  by  a  small  winter  stream  never  more  than  six  feet  wide, 
which  became  perfectly  dry  early  in  August.     The  channel  of  the 


On  the  Rising  of  Springs  and  Streams.  523 

stream  is  not  more  than  two  feet  in  depth.  In  the  latter  part  of 
August  I  was  surprised  to  find  in  it  a  small  pool  of  water,  at  the  side 
of  the  road.  On  the  fourth  of  September  the  wet  space  extended 
some  fifty  feet.  On  the  ninth  of  October  it  had  become  a  continuous, 
running  stream,  discharging  five  or  six  gallons  per  minute,  and  this 
without  a  drop  of  rain. 

There  is  no  great  difficulty,  I  apprehend,  in  solving  the  phenom- 
enon. The  water  which  falls  in  the  winter  and  spring  penetrates  the 
earth,  and  finds  an  impervious  bed  not  far  beneath  the  surface.  This 
bed  being  more  or  less  inclined,  the  water,  of  course,  gravitates  lat- 
erally, till  it  finds  vent  in  the  form  of  a  spring.  In  the  long  days  of 
summer,  when  the  sun  is  fifteen  hours  above  the  horizon,  and  almost 
vertical,  and  when  the  atmosphere  is  very  arid,  evaporation  is  so 
rapid  as  to  exhaust  the  supply  at  the  springs  and.  cause  them  to  dis- 
appear ;  or  at  least  to  diminish  the  supply  and  carry  off  entirely  the 
water  from  the  bed  of  the  stream  in  the  intervals  of  the  springs.  As 
the  season  advances,  the  days  become  shorter  and  the  power  of  the 
sun  also  diminishes.  Evaporation  becomes  proportionally  slower, 
and  at  length  is  so  retarded  as  not  to  carry  off  the  percolations  of  the 
springs  ;  and  the  springs  first  reappear,  and  then  the  streams. 

The  diminishing  evaporation  after  the  summer  solstice,  may  be 
forcibly  represented  by  figures.  Thus,  the  time  occupied  by  the  pro- 
cess of  evaporation,  in  proportion  to  that  of  influx  or  replenishment, 
or  in  other  words,  the  number  of  hours  of  sunshine  and  of  night,  in 
this  latitude,  is  nearly  as  follows: 

June  20,  sun  15  h.,  night     9  h.,  or  as  10  to     6 

July  20,  sun  14  h.,  nigra  10  h.,  or  as  10  fo     7.14 

Aug.  20,  sun  13  h.,  night  11  la..,  or  as  10  to     8.45 

Sept.  20,  sun  12  h.,  night  12  h.,  or  as  lu  to  10 

Oct,    20,  sun  1L  h.,  night  13  la.',  or  as  10  to  11.82 

Nov.  20,  sun  10  h.,  night  14  h.,  or  as  10  to  14 

But  this  exhibits  only  the  space  of  time  occupied  by  the  evapor- 
ating process.  The  greatly  diminished  power  of  the  sun's  rays  in 
the  autumn  months,  enhances  the  effect  very  materially.  Besides  it 
is  quite  possible  that,  in  the  longest  days,  when  the  soil  is  most  heat- 
ed, a  portion  of  the  water  in  the  strata  supplying  the  springs  is  drawn 
directly  upward  by  capillary  attraction.  This  would  be  an  addition- 
al source  of  exhaustion,  which  would  cease  or  diminish  with  the  ad- 
vance of  the  season. 

I  am  informed  by  a  friend,  J.  W.  Osborne,  Esq.,  of  Napa,  that  it 


524  THE    HESPERIAN. 

is  very  common  for  the  springs  and  streams,  after  rising  in  the  autumn, 
to  disappear  again  before  the  rains  set  in.  Though  this  fact  has  not 
come  under  my  own  observation,  yet  I  can  scarcely  doubt  it,  the 
cause  is  so  obvious.  We  very  seldom  have  rain  sufficient  to  pene- 
trate a  foot  into  the  soil  before  December.  And  though  the  evapor- 
ation may  be  almost  completely  suspended,  yet  the  supply  in  the 
strata  furnishing  the  springs  must  in  time  be  exhausted,  and  in  that 
case  the  springs  would  again  disappear. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that,  in  sinking  wells,  water  is  found  near 
the  surface,  in  most  of  the  plains  and  valleys  of  California.  Imper- 
vious beds  of  clay  or  rock  appear  very  generally  to  underlie  the  su- 
perficial strata.  If  it  were  otherwise,  the  phenomenon  to  which  this 
paper  refers  might  not  be  so  conspicuous.  There  is  a  prominent  fea- 
ture of  the  scenery  of  our  plains  dependent  on  the  same  cause.  In 
the  autumn,  after  traveling  five  or  ten  miles  without  meeting  with 
a  drop  of  water  or  any  growing  vegetation,  you  observe  a  clump  of 
green  willows  in  the  bed  of  what  appears  to  be  a  "  dry  creek."  You 
find  there  a  pool  of  water,  and  perhaps  in  the  course  of  the  bed,  oth- 
er pools  will  be  found,  where  a  good  supply  of  water  is  always  on 
hand  in  the  dryest  seasons. 


SONNET. 


"Know  how  sublime  a  thing  it  is 

To  suffer  and  be  strong." — Longfellow. 

The  gloomy  hours  and  darksome  days, 

Of  chill  adversity  are  mine  ; 

A  wanderer  lone  along  strange  ways — 

For  the  old  paths  I  pant  and  pine, — 

But  all  in  vain,  in  dreams  alone 

I  greet  the  loving  friends  of  youth, 

And  hear  the  church-bell's  sacred  tone 

Soft  chiming  with  their  words  of  truth  ; — 

What  need  of  more  1  the  world  is  wide, 

And  He  hath  made  it  wondrous  fair  ; 

'Tis  foolish  grief  alone  would  hide 

In  the  lorn  halls  of  dark  despair  : 
Man  may  he  just  and  fail  success  ;  be  brave  and  not  achieve  ; 
Yet  standing  firm  in  dire  distress,  will  victory's  chaplet  weave. 

T.  H.  H. 
San  Francisco,  Dec.  1862. 


THE    WIFE 


A    STORY    OF    CALIFORNIA. 


BY    MRS.    M.    P.   STRONG. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Time  did  not  loiter  with  the  inmates  of  the  old  square  house.  Ar- 
thur was  to  sail  by  the  first  of  December,  and  Ruth's  heart  and  hands 
were  full.  She  dared  not  often  trust  herself  to  think  of  the  separa- 
tion that  was  so  near ;  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  make  her  hope 
and  courage  reach  out  to  grasp  aught  beyond  it.  Yet,  though  al- 
ready feeling  the  gloom  of  the  dark  shadow  that  hourly  crept  nearer, 
Ruth  was  happy.  It  is  so  sweet  to  labor  and  care  in  any  way  for 
one  beloved,  and  little,  indeed,  of  such  sweetness  had  hitherto  fallen 
to  Ruth's  lot  in  her  lonely  life.  Her  father  she  had  never  known ; 
her  mother  died  just  when  she  was  old  enough  to  begin  to  understand 
and  respond  to  the  tenderness  of  that  mother's  love.  Brother  or  sis- 
ter she  had  not,  and  she  often  felt  that  her  mother's  death  had  sealed 
up  treasures  in  her  heart,  that  might  have  made  her  childhood  glad 
and  the  dawn  of  her  womanhood  beautiful.  But  as  it  was,  very  few 
ever  noticed  the  bashful,  plain-faced  child.  Aunt  Mary,  to  whose 
care  she  had  been  left,  was  kind ;  she  meant  to  do  her  best  for  the 
orphan,  but  she  could  not  understand  Ruth,  and  did  not  dream  of  the 
latent  springs  that  were  as  yet  unstirred  in  the  child's  nature.  Then 
poor  Aunt  Mary  was  so  bowed  down  with  her  own  life  sorrow  that 
she  had  no  time  nor  heart  to  care  for  Ruth,  as  she  might  have  done 
under  happier  circumstances.  Her  husband  was  a  drunkard,  and  it 
required  all  her  own  and  Ruth's  exertions  to  keep  absolute  want 
from  their  fire-side  and  from  the  two  pale  and  puny  children  who  sat 
there.  Neither  could  Aunt  Mary  at  all  appreciate  the  mental  hun- 
ger that  was  ever  present  with  Ruth  and  induced  her  to  grasp  at 
everything  that  seemed  to  promise  it  satisfaction.  Nevertheless,  by 
dint  of  much  self-denial,  she  allowed  Ruth  an  opportunity  to  glean 
what  she  could  in  the  common  school  of  the  neighborhood — that 
storehouse  which  stands  open  to  the  child  of  every  American  without 
money  and  without  price ;  but  when  Ruth  had  exhausted  this  re- 
source, and  the  craving  appetite  was  only  whetted  thereby,  she  seemed 


526  THE   HESPERIAN. 

doomed  to  perpetual  want,  for  it  was  only  now  and  then  that  a  crumb 
from  the  banquet  of  books  fell  in  her  way. 

There  was  one,  however,  who  often  noticed  the  intelligent  face 
in  church  and  in  the  Sabbath  school,  and  occasionally  in  his  week 
day  rounds,  and  who  discerned  in  its  possessor  a  mind  of  the  first 
order,  and  that  one  was  the  minister  of  the  village  church.  By  ju- 
dicious encouragement,  now  and  then,  and  the  occasional  loan  of  a 
book,  he  often  gave  a  helping  hand  to  the  intellect  that  was  painful- 
ly struggling  up  under  the  pressure  of  an  untoward  fate.  As  the 
years  went  by,  and  Ruth  grew  to  womanhood,  it  was  his  influence 
and  recommendation  that  first  obtained  for  her  a  situation  as  teacher 
in  an  out  of  the  way  district  in  his  parish,  thus  opening  up  to  her 
hampered  and  prisoned  spirit  a  new  outlook  upon  life,  and,  as  it 
seemed  to  her,  an  almost  boundless  field  for  usefulness  and  self-im- 
provement. Ruth  was  a  successful  teacher,  for  the  employment  was 
congenial,  and  she  brought  all  her  energies  to  bear  upon  it.  So,  after 
a  time,  it  came  to  be  forgotten  that  she  was  the  niece  of  her  uncle — 
the  friendless  waif  whom  nobody  knew,  and  for  whom  nobody  cared, 
and  her  services  were  commended  and  sought  after  both  in  her  own 
and  other  towns.  But  it  was  not  so  easy  as  Ruth  had  at  first  imag- 
ined to  carry  out  her  plans  for  self-culture.  Aunt  Mary's  feebleness 
and  destitution  were  a  constant  demand  upon  her  leisure  and  her 
scanty  earnings,  and  after  a  time,  the  first  freshness  of  her  hope  died 
out,  and  though  her  intense  thirst  for  knowledge  and  the  strength  of 
her  life  purpose  remained  the  same,  there  were  times  when  the  heart 
sickness  of  homelessness  and  isolation  would  almost  paralyze  her  en- 
ergies. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  seasons  that  Arthur  Edwards  had  sought 
her  and  proffered  first  friendship  and  afterward  love.  What  wonder, 
then,  that  Ruth's  whole  being  thrilled  to  its  core  with  the  new  and 
ravishing  emotion.  What  wonder  that  at  the  altar  of  this  new  hom- 
age, every  power  of  her  intellect  and  every  purpose  in  her  life  plan 
bowed  itself.  Was  it  possible  that  there  was  one  in  the  wide  world 
with  whose  life  stream  blent  hourly  thoughts  of  her — one  for  whom 
she  made  all  of  joy  in  the  present,  and  who  centered  in  her  all  hope 
for  the  future  ?  She  had  scarcely  had  time  as  yet  in  her  brief  wife- 
hood to  realize  how  this  could  be,  and  she  rested  in  the  consciousness 
of  present  bliss,  almost  fearing  that  when  Arthur  went,  she  should 
wake  and  find  it  all  a  dream. 


The  Wife:  a  Story  of  California.  527 

Ruth  had  thought  so  constantly  of  Arthur — of  Arthur's  wants  on 
the  voyage  and  in  the  new  home  he  sought,  that  she  had  hardly  giv- 
en a  thougfit  either  to  her  father  or  mother-in-law.  In  Mr.  Edwards' 
open  face  his  straight-forward  goodness  of  heart  always  showed  itself, 
and  it  was  easy  to  see,  under  all  his  efforts  to  be  cheerful,  how  sin- 
cerely he  sorrowed  at  this  separation  from  his  only  child.  But  Mrs. 
Edwards  was  not  so  readable.  She  was  always  sad — severely  and 
unremittingly  sad- — and  went  about  the  house  with  a  most  martyr- 
like air.  And,  indeed,  it  was  no  feigned  sadness,  for  she  loved  her 
handsome  boy  with  all  the  devotion  that  was  in  her  nature.  He  was 
her  pet,  her  pride ;  she  had  always  considered  him  a  new  edition  of 
herself  revised  and  improved,  and  to  him  she  had  constantly  looked 
as  the  future  restorer  of  the  departed  glory  of  the  Blackington  fam- 
ily. She  had  also  a  certain'fear  of  him  dating  back  to  his  very  baby- 
hood, which  made  her  loth  to  show  anything  like  dislike  or  disrespect 
in  his  presence  towards  the  wife  of  his  choice.  So  she  nursed  her 
anger  and  her  bitter  disappointment  in  silence,  biding  her  time. 

One  after  another  fled  the  short,  dreary  November  days.  Last 
things  had  been  done,  trunks  packed,  and  last  articles  stowed  careful- 
ly in  them,  and  on  the  morrow  Arthur  was  to  leave  for  New  York. 
It  had  been  decided  that  Ruth  was  not  to  accompany  him  to  the 
steamer. 

"  It  is  much  better  for  you  to  say  good-bye  here,"  said  Arthur, 
"  It  would  be  just  as  hard  to  say  it  in  New  York,  and  you  would  be 
obliged  to  come  back  alone.  I  shall  feel  better  about  3^011  to  leave 
you  here,"  and  Ruth  acquiesced  submissively  in  his  decision. 

Sitting  there  before  the  fire  alone  wuh  her  husband,  while  the 
snow-filled  gusts  beat  against  the  creaking  window  blinds  without, 
Ruth  held  his  hand  closer  between  her  own  and  felt  that  the  thing 
she  had  so  dreaded  had,  indeed,  come  upon  her,  and  the  great  mer- 
ciless ocean  would  soon  roll  between  her  and  that  hand  she  would 
fain  clasp  forever. 

"Now  Ruth,"  said  Arthur,  drawing  her  head  down  on  his  shoul- 
der, "  don't  go  to  making  yourself  miserable  after  I  am  gone.  You 
know  it  won't  be  long ;  I  shall  certainly  send  for  you  some  time  dur- 
ing the  summer." 

"  If  all  goes  well,  I  know,"  said  Ruth,  "  but  that  little  word  if  is 
such  a  terrible  omnipresent  ghost  in  this  uncertain  wrorld  of  ours." 

"  All  will  go  well  of  course.     Don't  go  to  borrowing  trouble." 


528  THE    HESPERIAN. 

"  Oh,  Arthur,"  said  Buth,  lifting  up  her  head  to  look  into  his  dark- 
handsome  eyes,  "  you  don't  know  anything  what  it  is  to  live  as  I 
have  lived,  to  feel  yourself  such  a  pauper  in  all  human  regard,  and 
now  this  treasure  of  your  love  seems  so  priceless  to  me  ;  1  have  given 
in  exchange  for  it  all  I  had  to  give  in  this  world,  and  what  would  be- 
come of  me  if  anything  should  happen  to  you — if  you  should  ever 
change  to  me?" 

"If  I  should  ever  change  to  you,  Euth !  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Nothing,  Arthur,"  and  Ruth  laid  her  head  again  in  the  old  rest- 
ing place,  "  only  I  am  so  sad  to-night  that  I  am  selfishly  making  you 
sad,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  had  such  a  strange  dream  last  night,  it 
has  haunted  me  all  day." 

"  Why,  Ruth,  wTho  would  have  thought  you  were  superstitious 
enough  to  be  troubled  by  a  dream  !     What  was  it  ?" 

"  It  was  of  you  ;  and  it  is  strange,  too,  that  all  my  dreams  of  you 
ever  since  I  first  knew  you,  have  been  troubled  and  unhappy.  There 
has  scarcely  been  a  night  when  I  have  not  dreamed  of  you,  and  al- 
ways I  am  in  trouble.  Either  I  am  expecting  you  and  you  do  not 
come,  or  you  have  gone  away  and  do  not  write  me  and  I  do  not  know 
where  to  write  to  you,  or  I  have  sought  you  a  long  time,  and  when  I 
find  you,  you  do  not  seem  to  recognize  me.  Last  night  I  thought  I 
was  in  a  strange  country,  like  no  place  I  ever  saw  in  my  waking 
hours.  It  seemed  to  be  a  rich  valley  with  green  hills,  without  either 
forests  or  streams,  and  the  ocean  was  very  near,  and  the  wild  flowers 
were  so  abundant  and  so  splendid,  they  were  like  clouds  of  bright 
colors  amid  the  green.  And  I  thought  you  were  there  too,  and  I 
wanted  to  find  you.  It  seemed  as  if  there  was  some  terrible  evil 
coming  upon  you,  and  I  wanted  to  warn  you  and  save  you.  Now 
and  then  I  could  see  you,  but  I  could  never  get  near  enough  to  speak. 
Whenever  I  had  almost  overtaken  you  and  was  about  to  call  your 
name,  a  woman's  face  would  come  between  us,  and  I  could  not  see 
you.  It  was  unlike  any  face  I  know,  very  beautiful,  proud  and 
queenly,  but  when  it  turned  to  me,  it  had  an  evil,  scornful  smile  that 
made  me  shudder." 

"  Oh,  Ruth,  what  a  foolish  child  you  are  to  let  such  a  thing 
trouble  yon.  Don't  go  to  being  jealous,  now,  of  the  lady  of  your 
dream,"  and  Arthur  laughed  and  patted  the  round  cheek  that  nestled 
so  near  his  own,  secretly  pleased  at  this  shadow  of  something  akin  to 
jealousy  in  his  wife's  heart.     "Never  you  fear,  Ruth  ;  I'm  going  to 


The  Wife;  a  Story  of  California.  529 

California  to  make  money,  not  acquaintances  of  either  sex.     I  don't 
think  my  loyalty  to  you  will  be  in  any  danger." 

Kuth  laughed  too,  and  then  she  said  seriously,  "  But  it  seems  so 
strange  to  me  that  I  should  ever  have  won  a  love  like  yours,  that  I 
often  think,  what  if  I  should  not  be  able  to  retain  it.  Your  mother 
said  to  me,  the  other  day,  that  as  our  acquaintance  and  engagement 
had  been  rather  short,  she  regretted  exceedingly  that  you  were  going 
away  where  you  would  probably  see  much  of  other  ladies,  so  soon 
after  your  marriage.  She  said  such  things  often  resulted  most  un- 
happily." 

"Did  my  mother  say  that?"  said  Arthur  quickly,  his  face  flush- 
ing, "  I  am  glad  you  told  me." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  the  flush  fade4  out,  and  he  ad- 
ded quietly,  "  But  you  know  I  told  you  you  mustn't  mind  mother. 
She  does  say  strange  things,  sometimes,  but  then  she  really  don't 
mean  anything  ;  you  must  humor  her  whims  a  little.  But  one  thing, 
Ruth,  don't  you  go  to  putting  into  practice  any  of  your  independent 
self-reliant  ideas  ;  don't  you  let  anything  induce  you  to  teach  after  I 
am  gone.  It  would  vex  me  exceedingly,  if  you  should.  I  leave  you 
here,  and  I  expect  you  to  remain  here  till  I  send  for  you.  You  are 
the  daughter  of  the  house,  and  must  consider  yourself  so,  and  that 
you  have  the  same  right  and  are  just  as  welcome  here  as  I  am.  My 
father  you  will  find  always  the  same,  and  I  hope  you  will  take  good 
care  of  him,  for  he  will  miss  me  sadly." 

"  Indeed,  I  will  do  my  best  to  take  a  daughter's  place  for  your 
sake,  Arthur." 

"And,  Ruth,  mind  you  do  not  go  to  your  aunt,  at  least  for  any- 
thing more  than  the  briefest  possible  visit.  It  is  no  place  for  you. 
You  and  I  begin  a  new  life  from  the  hour  I  land  in  California,  and  I 
wish  you  removed  entirely  from  all  your  early  surroundings.  You 
are  going  to  take  the  place  that  belongs  to  you  in  society  for  the  fu- 
ture." 

Arthur's  fine  face  was  all  aglow,  and  Ruth  could  not  avoid  par- 
taking somewhat  of  his  enthusiasm.  She  was  not  naturally  sanguine, 
and  her  life  experiences  had  not  been  such  as  contributed  to  foster 
that  trait  in  her  character,  but  she  listened  to  Arthur's  confident 
words  and  exultant  plans,  while  the  clock  told  hour  after  hour  far  on 
into  the  night,  till  unconsciously  the  dreary  interval  before  her  seem- 
ed shorter  and  less  gloomy  in  the  distance,  and  she  could  look  more 
hopefully  away  beyond  it. 


530  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

Still  she  was  anxious  and  unsatisfied,  and  a  sense  of  poverty  in 
life  and  life's  best  gifts  smote  upon  her  heart  as  it  had  never  done 
before.  Longings,  of  which  she  had  always  been  dimly  conscious, 
awoke  in  her  soul — pleadings  of  the  immortal  in  her  nature  for  a 
good  over  which  the  twin  tyrants  Change  and  Death,  stalking  hand 
in  hand  with  desolating  tread  through  all  the  green  earth,  should  have 
no  power.  That  there  was  in  mortal  life  a  certain  God-given  loyalty 
and  faith  whose  reward  was  light  which  could  illumine  the  darkest 
paths,  and  peace  whose  foundations  laid  hold  upon  the  throne  of  God 
himself,  she  never  doubted,  but  she  had  it  not. 

And  so,  between  farewell  words  and  rest  which  was  no  rest,  save 
for  the  loving  clasp  of  hands  so  soon  to  be  severed,  the  precious  mo- 
ments of  that  winter  night  dropped,  one  by  one,  away,  and  the  un- 
welcome dawn  stole  up  in  the  cold  gray  sky. 

A  fit  of  hysterical  weeping  and  a  nervous  headache  had  rendered 
Mrs.  Edwards  unable  to  rise,  and  Arthur,  when  the  form  of  breakfast 
was  over,  had  taken  leave  of  Ruth  in  their  own  room  and  gone  down 
stairs  to  seek  his  father.  Ruth  looked  out.  The  great  double  sleigh, 
with  one  or  two  passengers  well  wrapped  in  buffalo  robes,  which  was 
going  to  the  nearest  railway  station,  stood  at  the  gate,  and  a  man 
was  carrying  out  Arthur's  trunks.  She  might  see  him,  just  for  one 
little  moment,  again.  She  stole  down  stairs.  The  heavy  hall  door 
was  ajar,  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  clumsy,  old-fashioned  latch, 
as  if  she  feared  Arthur  might  pass  out  without  seeing  her.  She  did 
not  feel  the  sharp  wind  that  swept  in,  nor  the  biting  cold  of  the  frost 
covered  iron,  to  which  her  fingers  adhered.  She  heard  the  door  of 
the  sitting  room  shut  and  her  husband's  quick  step  coming  into  the 
hall. 

"Ruth!" 

She  did  not  speak,  but  laid  her  white,  tearless  cheek  so  wearily 
upon  his  breast,  that  even  Arthur's  courage  and  resolution  almost 
failed  him.  One  strong  clasp  of  his  arms — one  kiss,  the  memory  of 
which  must  feed  the  love-light  in  her  heart  so  long,  and  he  was  gone. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

In  the  days  of  her  youth,  Mrs.  Edwards  had  been  a  beauty  and  a 
belle.  Even  at  fifty,  her  eyes  had  not  lost  all  their  brightness,  and 
signs- of  age  were  only  beginning  to  show  themselves  in  her  plentiful 
black  hair.     Her  father  was  the  great  man  of  the  town,  having  been 


The  Wife :  a  Story  of  California.  531 

rich  in  village  lots,  and  mountain  farms,  and  flocks  of  sheep,  and  the 
owner  of  woolen  mills  and  grist  mills  on  the  Hoosac.  To  his  daugh- 
ters he  gave  what  were  considered  in  those  days  very  superior  advan- 
tages. Mrs.  Edwards  and  her  sister  were  sent,  for  a  whole  year,  to 
a  boarding  school  in  Troy  to  finish  their  education  and  acquire  some 
accomplishments,  and  on  their  return,  their  embroidery,  their  piano, 
and  the  "  fruit  pieces"  they  had  painted  on  velvet,  were  the  wonder 
of  the  village.  One  of  these  "  fruit  pieces"  still  hung  in  Mrs.  Ed- 
wards' best  parlor,  representing  a  plate,  upon  which  were  some  queer 
looking  grapes,  a  round  object  of  a  color  between  a  reddish  potato 
and  a  peach,  something  else  evidently  intended  for  a  bunch  of  cher- 
ries, and  some  extraordinary  looking  melons.  Mrs.  Edwards'  eyes 
always  rested  on  this  with  peculiar  satisfaction,  and  who  shall  say 
what  golden  memories  of  by-gone  days  clustered  around  it ! 

The  piano,  also,  she  still  retained,  standing  in  a  corner  of  the 
same  parlor.  Like  its  mistress,  it  had  passed  its  prime,  and  its  tones, 
like  her  voice,  were  shrill  and  sadly  out  of  tune.  But  time  and  fa- 
miliarity had  rendered  Mrs.  Edwards  insensible  to  these  defects,  and 
she  still  continued  to  play  over  occasionally  her  youthful  "  marches" 
and  songs,  "  that  she  might  not  get  out  of  practice,"  she  said.  At 
such  times,  Mr.  Edwards,  who  had  an  unusually  nice  sense  of  harmo- 
ny, though  his  wife  declared  "  he  hadn't  the  least  taste  for  music," 
always  took  himself  as  far  as  possible  away,  and  even  the  sleek,  de- 
mure Maltese  pussy  by  the  kitchen  hearth  sometimes  darted  out  of 
doors,  with  back  up  and  bristling  tail,  on  a  reconnoissance  to  find  out 
what  impudent  specimen  of  the  feline  race  was  insulting  her,  on  her 
own  premises. 

At  the  death  of  her  father,  soon  after  Arthur's  birth,  Mrs.  Ed- 
wards became  possessor  of  the  old  homestead,  the  bulk  of  the  prop- 
erty also  reverting  to  her.  But  Mr.  Edwards  had  never  been  suc- 
cessful in  business.  His  wife  said  "he  hadn't  any  faculty  ;"  other 
people  said  ■ '  he  was  too  free-hearted  and  good-natured."  He  was 
neither  an  indolent  man  nor  a  spendthrift,  yet  losses  and  reverses 
had  poured  in  upon  him,  till  nearly  all  his  wife's  fortune  was  swept 
away.  Mrs.  Edwards  wept  and  bemoaned  herself  and  reproached 
her  husband,  as  the  years  came  and  went,  finding  them  poor  and 
leaving  them  poorer ;  but  she  was  an  excellent  manager,  for  her 
mother  had  been  preeminent  in  all  housekeeping  lore,  and  her  do- 
mestic education  had  not  been  neglected,  though  she  was  "  accom- 


532  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

plished ; "  so  she  conformed  herself,  though  with  a  very  bad  grace, 
to  her  altered  circumstances.  Dismissing  her  "help,"  she  performed 
the  labor  of  the  household  herself,  partly  as  a  matter  of  economy, 
and  partly  that  no  meddling  gossips  might,  by  any  possibility,  obtain 
a  clue  to  the  internal  arrangements  of  her  home.  Thus,  by  dint  of 
close  calculation,  the  great  house  was  retained  and  most  of  its  rich, 
old-fashioned  furnishings,  and  Mrs.  Edwards  still  continued  to  dress 
genteelly,  often  elegantly,  though  to  do  this  she  was  obliged  to  prac- 
tice a  grinding  economy  at  her  table.  This  last  result  of  their  rever- 
ses was  felt  as  keenly,  perhaps,  as  any  other  by  Mr.  Edwards.  He 
could  bear  with  easy  good-nature  his  wife's  hard  speeches  and  unkind 
reflections,  but  a  love  of  good  dinners  was  a  weakness  deeply  rooted 
in  his  character. 

In  all  her  adversity,  however,  Mrs.  Edwards  never  quite  despair- 
ed. Arthur  was  left  to  her  yet,  and  in  Arthur's  coming  manhood 
were  garnered  all  her  hopes  and  all  her  ambition.  Arthur  was  "  a 
real  Blackington,"  she  said,  and  if  he  only  made  a  right  beginning  in 
the  world,  she  saw  no  reason  why  he  should  not  redeem  their  fallen 
fortunes  and  reproduce  the  aristocratic  splendors  of  her  early  life. 
This  right  beginning  she  confidently  expected  would  be  a  wealthy 
and  every  way  advantageous  marriage.  The  possibility  of  any  other 
marriage  connection  for  her  son  had  never  occurred  to  her,  and  wThen, 
in  the  course  of  events,  a  pitiless  reality  dispelled  all  these  beautiful 
visions,  no  one  but  herself  knew  how  keenly  and  bitterly  she  felt  the 
disappointment.  With  such  plans  crushed,  and  such  feelings  rank- 
ling in  her  heart,  she  was  not  likely  to  look  upon  Ruth  or  Ruth's 
doings  through  any  rose  colored  medium. 

"  I  suppose  you  play,"  said  Mrs.  Edwards  to  Ruth,  one  afternoon, 
as  she  opened  her  piano  for  the  first  time  since  Arthur's  departure. 

The  best  parlor  had  been  opened  and  w7armed  for  expected  guests, 
and  Ruth  stood  listlessly  by  the  window  examining  a  book  but  think- 
ing, meanwhile,  of  a  dark  morning  and  a  great  double  sleigh  and  the 
form  she  had  seen  last  in  it,  as  it  whirled  out  of  sight.  "  No,  I  do 
not,"  said  she  looking  up,  "  I  wish  I  did." 

"  Possible  !"  said  Mrs.  Edwards,  raising  both  her  hands.  "  Why, 
I  thought  you  were  educated  for  a  teacher." 

"  J  never  had  any  opportunity  to  learn  music.  Indeed,  I  have 
been- obliged  to  pickup  what  I  have  acquired,  by  little  and  little,  just 
as  I  could." 


The  Wife :   a  Story  of  California.  533 

"I'm  so  sorry  !"  said  Mrs.  Edwards,  taking  out  her  pocket  hand- 
kerchief and  passing  it  lightly  over  the  keys  of  the  instrument,  lest, 
perchance,  there  might  linger  a  stray  speck  of  dust  on  them.  "  Poor 
Arthur  is  so  very  fond  of  music,  I  don't  know  how  he  can  be  satis- 
fied with  a  wife  that  knows  nothing  about  it." 

"  I  sing  a  little,"  said  Ruth,  "  and  I  think  I  could  soon  learn  some- 
thins;  of  instrumental  music.  Arthur  intends  I  shall  take  lessons  in 
California." 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  be  of  any  use.  You  wouldn't  be  likely 
to  learn  much  at  your  age,  and  after  marriage,  too,  unless  you  had  a 
natural  gift  for  it,  which  I  should  judge  you  haven't.  Besides,  I 
guess  Arthur'll  find  he'd  have  to  pay  for  music  lessons  in  California." 

The  blood  burned  in  Ruth's  face,  but  she  sat  down  and  listened 
deferentially  to  Mrs.  Edwards'  performing.  It  was  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  heard  it,  and  presently  a  sense  of  the  ludicrous  almost  ob- 
literated the  sting  of  the  words  that  had  been  spoken.  But  Mrs.  Ed- 
wards kept  on,  entirely  unconscious  that  there  was  any  lack  of  har- 
mony either  in  her  voice  or  in  her  accompaniment,  and  after  a  time, 
as  she  seemed  wholly  absorbed  in  her  playing,  Ruth  quietly  left  the 
room.     In  the  kitchen  she  encountered  Mr.  Edwards. 

"  What  was  that  Miss  Edwards  was  a  sayin  to  you  in  the  parlor 
just  now?"  asked  he. 

"  She  asked  me  if  I  played,  and  when  I  answered  that  I  did  not, 
she  said  she  was  sorry,  because  Arthur  is  fond  of  music." 

"Well,  I'm  dreadful  glad  you  don't,"  said  he,  with  a  knowing 
wink  and  a  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  parlor,  that  made  it  hard 
for  Ruth  to  keep  her  countenance.  "  I've  got  pretty  well  broke  in 
to  Miss  Edwards'  playin',  but  if  you  should  play,  too,  I  don't  think 
I  could  stand  it." 

We  make  heroic  resolutions  when  we  first  descry  trouble  or  dif- 
ficulty in  the  distance,  and  yet,  when  it  really  presses  upon  us,  how 
timid  and  easily  discouraged  we  often  are.  So  thought  Ruth,  the 
next  morning,  as  she  stood  a  moment  irresolutely  at  the  door  of  her 
room — Arthur's  room  that  had  been — before  going  down  stairs.  She 
had  begun  to  shrink,  already,  from  the  chilling  black  eyes  that  seem- 
ed determined  to  see  no  good  in  her. 

"  But  Arthur  said  I  mustn't  mind  her,"  she  half  whispered,  "and 
I  will  see  now  if  steady  forbearance  and  a  sincere  purpose  to  serve 
her  in  every  way  possible  will  not  melt  her  prejudices." 


534  THE    HESPEEIAN". 

Ruth  had  had  almost  as  little  opportunity  to  acquire  skill  and 
knowledge  in  domestic  affairs  as  for  mental  culture.  While  under 
Aunt  Mary's  roof,  the  necessity  of  constant  confinement  to  needle- 
work, because  in  that  she  was  quick  and  skillful,  had  fostered  her  nat- 
urally dreamy,  unobserving  habits  of  mind,  and  contributed  to  render 
her  somewhat  unpractical  and  ignorant  of  many  common  things  daily 
passing  in  her  presence.  Afterward,  her  steady  occupation  in  teach- 
ing had  precluded  the  possibility  of  much  improvement  in  this  re- 
spect ;  yet  she  trusted  that  willing  hands  and  a  warm  heart  would 
work  wonders  for  her.  She  was  quick  to  see  Mrs.  Edwards'  superi- 
ority in  all  domesticities,  and  a  little  fearful  of  exposing  any  ignor- 
ance before  her  practiced  eyes.  However,  there  were  many  minor 
matters  easily  learned,  and  safe  ground  to  commence  upon,  and  Mrs. 
Edwards  seemed  disposed  to  keep  her  kitchen  and  her  pantry  under 
her  own  vigilant  supervision. 

"I've  a  bad  headache,"  said  Mrs.  Edwards,  one  morning.  "I 
believe  I'll  go  up  stairs  and  lie  down.  You  can  just  get  a  little  lunch 
for  yourself,  and  Mr.  Edwards  can  take  a  bite  in  the  pantry.  I'll  be 
down  before  time  for  tea." 

"  Oh,"  said  Ruth,  smiling,  "  I  think  I  could  cook  a  dinner  for 
once." 

"  Oh,  no,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Edwards  earnestly,  "you'd  better  not,  I 
don't  want  anything  myself,  and  there's  no  use  making  any  trouble 
about  it ;  "  and  she  left  the  room,  while  Ruth  went  on  with  her  sew- 
ing, querying  in  her  mind  whether  her  mother-in-law  really  wished 
to  spare  her  trouble,  or  was  unwilling  she  should  meddle  with  the 
kitchen  department. 

Toward  noon,  Mr.  Edwards  came  into  the  sitting  room.  He  had 
been  up  to  see  his  wife,  and  Ruth  thought  he  looked  particularly 
elated. 

"  Miss  Edwards  has  got  one  of  her  dreadful  headaches,"  said  he, 
"  she's  gone  to  bed  and  says  she  can't  come  down  no  more  to-day. 
So  I'll  just  step  out  and  get  something  for  dinner,  and  I  guess  you 
and  I  can  manage  to  get  along,  can't  we  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Ruth,  laughingly  folding  up  her  work,  "  we'll 
try,  at  least." 

She  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  by  the  time  she  had  lit  a  fire  she 
saw  Mr.  Edwards  coming  cautiously  through  the  back  yard  with  a 
covered  basket  on  his  arm.     Setting  it  on  the  kitchen  table,  he  open- 


•  The  Wife  :  a  Story  of  California.  535 

ed  it,  glancing  around  now  and  then  with  a  half  suspicious  air,  and 
displayed  a  small  keg  of  oysters  and  some  accompanying  luxuries, 
such  as  Ruth  had  not  seen  since  her  advent  there. 

"  Miss  Edwards  don't  like  oysters,"  said  he  deprecating^,  "  she's 
never  willin'  to  cook  'em  ;  so  I  thought  seein'  you  and  I  are  alone, 
'twould  be  a  good  time  to  have  some.  I  reckoned  you'd  like  'em, 
and  if  you  don't  know  how  to  cook  'em,  I  do." 

"  But  mind  ye,"  added  he,  proceeding  to  open  the  keg,  "  don't 
you  say  a  word  to  Miss  Edwards  about  it.  ,Twouldn't  be  best  at 
all.  She  wouldn't  eat  any,  and  she  never  wants  to  be  bothered  when 
she  has  the  headache.     I'll  take  her  up  a  cup  of  tea  presently." 

And  he  did,  while  Ruth  prepared  the  oysters  and  spread  the  old 
round  table  with  such  a  dinner  as  it  had  not  held  for  a  long  time. 
Mr.  Edwards  laughed  and  told  stories  and  lingered  over  his  oysters, 
prophesying  great  things  for  Ruth's  future,  till  he  beguiled  her  into 
enjoying  the  meal  almost  as  much  as  he  did. 

Mrs.  Edwards  did  not  come  down  stairs  the  next  day.  She  had 
taken  a  severe  cold  and  was  obliged  to  keep  her  room  for  two  or 
three  days.  But  thanks  to  Ruth's  careful  nursing,  the  indisposition 
passed  away  without  serious  results. 

"I  suppose  there  is  no  bread  in  the  house  by  this  time,"  said 
Mrs.  Edwards,  when  she  was  again  able  to  sit  up  before  the  fire  in 
her  own  room. 

"  Oh  yes,  there  is  plenty,"  said  Ruth  looking  up  from  the  rug 
where  she  knelt  brushing  back  the  ashes  on  the  hearth-stone,  "  I 
have  baked  some." 

"  Oh,  you  have  ;  wTell,  I  should  like  a  slice  of  toast,  if  you  please." 

There  was  an  ungracious  intonation  in  Mrs.  Edwards'  voice,  and 
Ruth  felt  a  little  uneasy  as  she  went  down  stairs,  though  Mr.  Ed- 
wards had  praised  her  bread  making  immoderately.  However,  she 
did  her  best,  and  having  spread  the  little  tea  tray  with  a  snowy  nap- 
kin, took  it  up  stairs.  Mrs.  Edwards  tasted  a  little  and  then  pushed 
it  from  her  in  disgust. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  she  snappishly,  "  that  you  don't  know  how 
to  make  bread'?  I  thought,  considering  your  relations,  that  you'd 
been  brought  up  to  work,  if  nothing  else.  I  wonder  what  you  do 
know  !" 

Ruth's  self-respect  surged  up  in  one  indignant  throb,  and  she 
turned  quickly  and  left  the  room.     But  in  the  hall  she  stopped. 


536  THE    HESPERIAN. 

"  She  is  Arthur's  mother — remember  Arthur,"  plead  her  heart,  and 
with  a  strong  effort  she  put  down  her  resentment  and  went  back. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,''  said  she  gently,  "  but  I  must  confess,  I  am  a 
noviee  in  these  things.  I  hope  to  do  better  by  and  by.  Shall  I  bring 
you  up  some  crackers  ?"  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  took, 
up  the  rejected  tray  and  went  down  stairs. 

That  night  on  her  solitary  pillow  Ruth  reviewed  the  day,  and 
tried  to  reason  and  shame  herself  out  of  her  sensitiveness.  "  Cannot 
I  bear  these  little  troubles  cheerfully  for  Arthur's  sake  ?  It  is  very 
foolish  and  very  selfish  in  me  to  feel  these  things  so  keenly,  when  I 
know  it  is  her  way,  and  when  Mr.  Edwards  is  so  kind.  Now,  I  am 
sure  I  will  never  allow  myself  to  feel  so  again.'- 

Nevertheless,  she  cried  herself  to  sleep. 


LINES. 
On   receiving  a  bouquet  of  violets  and  cedar,   bound  WITH  "  RED, 

WHITE  AND  BLUE,"  FROM  THE  HAND  OF  A  LADY. 


Sweet,  glorious  emblem  of  our  native  land, 
Perennial  cedar,  bound  by  woman's  hand, 
"With  purest  violet,  whose  etherial  dye, 
First  caught  its  beauty  from  the  vaulted  sky, 
Clasped  each  to  each  with  freedom's  triple  tie, 
Those  matchless  colors  for  which  heroes  die. 
Fadeless  forever  as  this  verdant  spray, 
Fair  as  these  blossoms,  in  thy  upward  way, 
Bound  by  that  banner  floating  on  the  breeze, 
With  ties  unchanging  as  the  God's  decrees. 
Press  on  my  country,  'tis  thy  rightful  place, 
For  nobler  mothers  never  bore  a  race. 
Yes,  noble  woman,  in  this  awful  hour, 
When  clanger  threatens  with  portentous  power. 
We  turn  to  thee,  for  in  thy  gentle  hand 
Hangs  yet  the  future  of  our  father-land. 
'Tis  thou  must  teach  in  childhood's  pliant  stage 
The  earnest  duties  of  our  riper  age. 
Bind  then,  ye  mothers,  on  the  sunny  brow 
Of  each  fair  child,  this  signet  and  this  vow  : — 
I  own  no  master,  for  God  made  me  free, 
I  live  my  country  or  I  die  for  thee. 


THE     CUKFEW     BELL 


In  conversation  a  few  days  since  with  a  friend  from  London,  (Fran- 
cis Hobler,  Esq.)  respecting  some  of  the  ancient  usages  and  customs 
of  our  ancestors,  the  curfew  bell  was  mentioned,  and  expressing  a  de- 
sire to  know  of  its  origin,  he  handed  us  the  following.  It  may  be 
interesting  to  some  of  the  readers  of  the  Hesperian.  A  representa- 
tion of  the  Curfew,  electrotyped  by  our  highly  valued  contributor, 
Dr.  A.  Kellogg,  accompanies  this  sketch. 

The  old  curfew  bell  which  was  anciently  rung  in  the  town  of 
Hoddesdon,  in  Hertfordshire,  for  the  extinction  and  relighting  of  all 
fires  and  candle  light,  still  exists,  and  has  from  time  immemorial  been 
regularly  rung  on  the  morning  of  Shrove  Tuesday  at  4  o'clock,  after 
which  hour  the  inhabitants  are  at  liberty  to  make  and  eat  pancakes 
until  the  bell  rings  again  at  8  o'clock  at  night.  This  custom  is  ob- 
served so  closely  that  after  that  hour  not  a  pancake  remains  in  the 
town.     Milton  says ; 

"  I  hear  the  far-off  curfew  sound 
Over  some  wide-watered  shore 
Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar." 

Gray,  in  his  beautiful  elegy  in  a  country  church-yard,  begins: 

"  The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day." 

It  is  generally  supposed  (erroneously)  that  the  curfew  bell  came 


538  THE    HESPERIAN 

into  England  with  William  the  Conqueror.  This  opinion  is  founded 
upon  one  of  his  laws,  by  which  he  ordered  the  people  to  put  out 
their  fires  and  lights  and  go  to  bed  at  the  eight  o'clock  curfew  bell  ; 
but  Henry,  in  his  "  History  of  Great  Britain,"  says  that  there  is  suf- 
ficient evidence  of  the  curfew  having  prevailed  in  different  parts  of 
Europe  at  that  period  as  a  precaution  against  fires  which  were  fre- 
quent and  fatal  when  so  many  houses  were  built  of  wood.  In  Pes- 
hall's  "  History  of  Oxford"  it  is  related  that  Alfred  the  Great  ordered 
the  inhabitants  of  that  city  to  cover  their  fires  on  the  ringing  of  the 
bell  at  curfax  every  night  at  8  o'clock,  which  custom  is  observed  to 
this  day,  and  the  bell  as  constantly'  rings  at  S  as  Great  Tom  tolls  at 
9.  Wherever  the  curfew  is  now  rung  in  England  is  usually  at  4  in 
the  morning  and  8  in  the  evening,  as  at  Hoddesdon  on  Shrove  Tues- 
day;. also  at  Haverill  in  Suffolk  all  the  year  round,  as  I  have  heard 
for  many  years. 

Concerning  the  curfew,  or  the  instrument  used  to  cover  the  fire, 
there  is  a  communication  from  the  late  Mr.  Francis  Grose,  the  well 
remembered  ^antiquary,  in  the  "  Antiquarian  Repertory,"  vol.  I,  pub- 
lished by  Mr.  Ed.  JefFery.  Mr.  Grose  inclosed  a  letter  from  the  Rev. 
F.  Gortling,  author  of  the  "  Walk  through  Canterbury,"  with  a 
drawing  of  the  utensil  from  which  an  engraving  is  made  in  that  work. 
No  other  representation  of  the  curfew  exists. 

This  utensil,  says  the  "  Antiquarian  Repertory,"  is  called  a  curfew, 
or  couvrefue,  from  its  use,  which  is  that  of  suddenly  putting  out  a  fire. 
The  method  of  applying  it  was  this : — the  wood  and  embers  were 
raked  as  close  as  possible  to  the  back  of  the  hearth  and  then  the  cur^ 
few  was  put  over  them,  the  open  part  placed  close  to  the  back  of  the 
chimney.  By  this  contrivance,  the  air  being  almost  totally  excluded, 
the  fire  was  of  course  extinguished.  This  curfew  is  of  copper,  riv- 
eted together,  as  solder  would  have  been  liable  to  melt  with  the  heat. 
It.  is  ten  inches  high,  sixteen  inches  wide,  and  nine  inches  deep.  The 
Rev.  Mr.  Gortling,  to  whom  it  belongs,  says  it  has  been  in  his  fam- 
ily from  time  immemorial  and  was  always  called  the  curfew.  Some 
others  of  this  kind  are  still  remaining  in  Kent  and  Sussex. 

T.  Row,  in  the  "  Gentleman's  magazine, — "  because  no  mention  is 
made  of  any  particular  implement  for  ex inguishing  the  fire,  in  any  writer" 
— is  inclined  to  think  there  never  was  any  such.  Fosbrooke,  in  his 
"Encyclopedia  of  Antiquities,"  says:  "An  instrument  of  copper 
presumed  to  have  been  made  for  covering  the  ashes,  but  of  uncertain 
use"  is  engraved. — It  is  one  of  his  plates. 


Worship.  539 

In  Johnson's  Dictionary  the  curfew  is  explained  as  "  a  cover  for 
a  fire,  a  fire-plate.^Bacon."  So  that  if  Johnson  is  credible — and  his 
citation  of  authorities  is  unquestionable — Bacon,  no  very  modern 
writer,  is  authority  for  the  fact  that  there  was  such  an  implement  as 
the  curfew. 

WORSHIP. 


BY    H.    C.    DORR. 


Mock  not,  mock  not  our  holy  God, 
In  churches  built  by  hands, 

"With  empty  forms  and  empty  sounds, 
That  rise  from  many  lands. 

We  build  up  shrines  of  precious  woods, 

Altars  of  burnished  gold, 
With  lips  attuned  to  holy  words, 

Clasped  hands  there  upward  fold. 

Yet  it  is  all  but  mockery, 

To  heaven  and  our  Lord, 
To  breathe  mere  words  on  bended  knee, 
Unless  our  lives  accord. 

If  in  the  heart  no  thought  is  there, 

That  to  the  act  responds, 
Then  is  all  worship  empty  air, 

Religion,  priestly  bonds. 

Can  He  all  wise  be  thus  deceived, 

By  our  poor  human  arts, 
Our  sounding  words  by  him  believed, 

Who  reads  all  mortal  hearts  1 

If  from  His  house  we  turn  aside, 
To  give  some  heart  new  pain, 

No  creed  or  form  shall  ever  hide, 
God's  time  thus  spent  in  vain. 

His  fitting  temple  is  a  heart, 

Whence  loving  deeds  shall  flow, 

Where  justly  we  shall  act  our  part, 
To  other  hearts  below. 


TINY    PETUNIA.    (Petunia  parviflora.  [Juss.]) 


BY   DR.  A.   KELLOGG. 


The  Petunias  arid  Nierembergias  are  in  general  highly  appreciated 
and  commonly  cultivated  plants. 

The  native  species  of  Petunia  here  figured  is  found  along  the  mar- 
gins of  the  Bay  at  Oakland,  and  probably  elsewhere.  As  regards 
the  mere  beauty  of  the  plant,  the  very  minute  purple  flowers  would 
scarcely  be  noticed  by  the  casual  observer.  Yet  this  plant  has  much 
interest  to  many  here,  and  more  abroad.  We  owe  the  world  some- 
thing in  return  for  the  spread  of  their  own  local  knowledge — oft- 
times  of  increasing  interest  as  it  reverberates  upon  a  distant  shore. 
The  commonest  objects  to  us,  are  rare  somewhere  ;  the  most  trifling 
incidents  from  our  heart's  love,  are  as  the  fragrant  flowers  along  our 
path. 

At  one  period  we  questioned  if  this  could  be  a  Petunia  or  a  Nier- 
embergia — next  Salpiglossis  prostrata — then  Leptophragma  prostrata, 
and  finally  as  above.  It  has  cost  us  much  time  and  a  good  deal  of 
perplexity,  the  best  authorities  differing.  We  are  right  glad  to  find 
the  plant  has  any  name  at  all.  There  has  even  been  expressed  some 
doubt  whether  the  plant  was  prostrate.  We  can  assure  "those  abroad 
that  the  plant  lies  flat  enough  here  and  throws  down  radicles  at  the 
joints  like  a  common  creeper.  It  often  forms  large,  dense  mats.  The 
sparkling,  dewy  glands  and  rich  green  foliage  we  think  would  render 
it  a  pretty  pendent  pot  plant. 


PURPLE    WEDGE-SPOTTED    EVENING    PRIMROSE. 
(Oenothera  lepida.  [Lindl.]) 


BY  DR.  A.  KELLOGG. 


This  is  one  of  our  beautiful  autumnal  plants,  very  common  upon  the 
rolling  lands  of  California.  The  flowers  are  pale  purple  with  a  deep 
purple  wedge-shaped  spot  at  the  summit  of  each  petal.  The  stem  is 
rigidly  erect  and  somewhat  woody ;  rarely  branching  in  its  native 
habit,  as  represented  in  the  sketch,  which  we  took  from  a  remarka- 


The  Dead.  541 

bly  fine  specimen  from  Goat  Island  in  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco. 
The  plant  abounds  on  the  Mission  hills,  and  indeed  is  very  common 
along  the  coast  of  California  ;  but  we  usually  find  it  strictly  wand- 
shaped  with  a  tuft  or  ball  of  crowded  leaves  and  flowers  on  the  top 
— the  lower  portion  becoming  naked  as  soon  as  the  flowers  appear. 
The  leaves  in  arid  soils  often  assume  the  varied  hues  of  autumn — 
bright  purple  or  brilliant  red,  chiefly  on  the  borders  and  tips. 

Our  plant  has  been  much  admired  and  long  cultivated  by  foreign 
florists. 

It  is  thought  to  be  allied  to  (E.  purpitrea  and  (E.  decumbeus,  so 
nearly,  indeed,  as  to  be  hardly  worthy  of  a  separate  name.  To  us  it 
appears  so  distinct  in  its  habit,  we  find  it  difficult  to  entertain  a  mo- 
mentary doubt  on  the^ubject. 


THE     DEAD. 


BY    E  E  V.    J.     D.     STEONG. 


Stern  winter's  fell  and  frosty  breath 
Hath  stripped  the  leafy  bowers, 

And  torn  the  green  May  drapery 
From  off  the  gentle  flowers  ; — 

The  flowerets  blue  and  white  and  red, 

Are  numbered  with  the  faded  dead. 

These  tender  germs,  whose  blighted  bloom 

Brings  grief  and  tears  to  me, 
A  true  and  thoughtful  lesson  teach, 

Of  our  mortality ; — 
The  beautiful,  the  good,  the  brave, 
Must  slumber  in  the  silent  grave. 

Yet  when  our  earth-form  here  shall  die, 

And  dust  return  to  dust, 
Our  living  self,  its  bonds  unclasped, 

Will  rise  in  holy  trust, 
And,  a  pure  spirit,  wing  its  way, 
From  star  to  star  through  endless  day. 


It  happens  to  a  man. of  science  as  to  a  blade  of  corn  ;  it  shoots  high 
and  carries  itself  erect  while  the  ear  is  empty,  but  when  matured  and 
full  of  grain,  it  bows  down  and  is  humble. 


THE     YOUNG     ARCHITECT. 


BY   FANNY   GREEN   MCDOUGAL. 

The  following  story  is  given  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  words  of  the 
narrator. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  on  New  Year's  Day,  1840,  and  I  was 
sauntering  up  Broadway  in  the  direction  of  Bond  street.  You  may 
be  assured  I  was  quite  a  different  figure  then  from  what  yo'u  now  see 
me.  You  would  scarce  believe  the  truth  that  the  delicate  hands  so 
delicately  gloved,  could  ever  have  become  calloused,  dark  and  brawny 
as  these.  I  was,  in  fact,  conspicuously  fashionable ;  and  the  elabor- 
ately ornate  style  of  my  dress  would  have  shown  at  a  single  glance 
that  my  tailor,  seamstress,  and  even  my  laundress  and  shoe-black, 
were  all,  in  their  several  professions,  artists.  It  seems  strange  to 
me  when  I  think  of  it,  that  it  could  have  been  so — yet  so  it  was.  I 
might  have  been  styled  the  Prince  of  Broadway — a  primate  among 
dandies  ;  nor  can  I  regret  that  it  was  so  ;  for  I  now  know  from  ex- 
perience how  much  purer  happiness,  how  much  truer  dignity,  there 
is  even  in  the  poorest  and  meanest  work  that  is  useful,  than  in  a  life 
of  utter  uselessness. 

But  to  return.  I  was  revolving  in  my  mind  certain  delicate  points 
in  relation  to  the  calls  I  was  to  make,  and  the  propriety  of  giving  to 
certain  families  and  acquaintances  a  social  lease  of  my  most  precious 
company  for  the  ensuing  year,  and  of  withdrawing  the  faultless  shad- 
ow of  my  garments  from  other  circles,  during  the  same  length  of 
tune ;  for  though  a  Yankee,  you  must  know  that  acquaintances  in 
New  York  are  either  made  or  unmade  on  New  Year's  day.  I  was 
growing  tired  of  the  deliberation  ;  for  at  that  time  any  exercise  of 
thought  was  painful  to  my  undisciplined  mind ;  and  so,  like  many 
other  vain  and  impatient  young  men — for  then  I  was  young — 1  was 
wishing  I  might  add  a  feather  to  the  wing  of  Time,  or  do  something, 
at  least  to  hurry  him  along,  when  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a 
light  tap  on  the  door  of  a  house  near  by. 

There  are  certain  sounds  which,  without  any  external  circum- 
stance to  mark  them  as  peculiar,  yet  arrest  the  attention,  and  address 
themselves  to  the  heart,  with  a  force  and  power  apparently  not  their 
own.     They  pre-echo  the  Future ;  and,  as  we  listen  to  them,  we 


The  Young  Architect.  543 


"o 


know  they  have  some  mysterious  connection  with  our  future  destiny. 
They  are  probably  to  be  explained  only  on  an  electrical  principle,  by 
which  the  spirit,  with  the  finer  perceptions  of  its  nature,  recognizes 
the  affinities  which  are  hereafter  to  be  developed,  and  wrought  with 
the  tissue  of  our  affections — our  hopes — our  whole  being. 

Such  impressions,  and  such  a  train  of  thought  passed  through  my 
mind,  awakened  by  the  little  sound  to  which  I  have  referred  ;  though 
the  process  was  far  more  rapid  than  that  of  repeating  it  has 
been. 

I  looked  up  ;  and  a  boy  of  some  fourteen  years  was  standing  be- 
fore one  of  our  finest  mansions,  beating  the  door  with  such  force  that 
I  became  seriously  alarmed  for  his  knuckles. 

I  wish  I  could  set  before  your  eyes  the  figure  which  just  then  fil- 
led mine,  and,  for  the  moment,  drove  Belles  and  Graces  completely 
from  my  thoughts.  My  first  impulse  was  to  laugh ;  for  then  I  was 
inclined  to  be  thoughtless — or  more  definitely  speaking,  to  that  com- 
mon disease  of  the  juvenile  brain  which  is  described  by  the  prefix  of 
rattle.  But  there  was  something  about  the  child  that  instantly  awoke 
a  stronger  interest,  and  a  deeper  feeling.  He  was  dressed  from  head 
to  foot  in  a  homespun  suit  of  the  true  butternut  dye  of  the  Green 
Mountains.  The  fashion  of  his  broad-skirted  coat,  with  shining  new 
gilt  buttons,  would  have  done  honor  to  the  gravity  of  a  patriarch ; 
while  cap,  pantaloons,  vest,  and  even  leggins,  were  all  of  the  same 
unchanging  color.  Add  to  the  effect  of  this  that  they  were,  unques- 
tionably, made  to  grow  to — for  they  literally  hung  in  folds — and  you 
may  have  something  of  an  idea ;  and  yet,  after  all,  not  the  full,  nor 
exactly  the  true  one.  I  verily  believe  that  Brummel  would  have 
fainted  away  at  the  sight  of  those  garments ;  and  if  any  of  his  Broad- 
way brethren  had  a  glimpse  of  them,  there  is  no  doubt  they  must 
have  had  recourse  to  their  salts,  notwithstanding  the  mercury  was 
several  degrees  below  zero.  The  great  wonder  is  how  I  bore  it  so 
well. 

But  evidently  there  was  something  about  the  child  one  does  not 
meet  every  day  ;  and  as  I  gazed  at  him,  all  that  bag-work  of  ugly 
coarse  cloth,  of  the  ugliest  possible  color,  disappeared  from  my  view, 
and  the  mind  seemed  to  come  out  and  envelope  the  whole  being.  It 
was  like  the  butterfly  emerging  from  his  chrysalis — a  kind  of  trans- 
figuration. His  face,  in  spite  of  the  hideous  cap,  whose  great  heavy 
leathern  visor  projected  over  it  so  unseemingly,  was  of  the  finest  type 
3 


544  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

of  genius.  The  awkward  country  boy  had  vanished  from  my  sight. 
A  young  Apollo  stood  there,  and  I  addressed  him  as  such. 

"  King  the  bell,"  I  said,  involuntarily  touching  my  hat  as  I  spoke, 
so  sudden,  and  so  real  was  the  respect  with  which  he  had  inspired 
me. 

"  What  sir?"  he  asked,  looking  down  cuiiously,  and  not  ungrate- 
fully ;  for  doubtless  I  had  expressed  the  strange  interest  I  felt,  in  the 
voice,  if  not  in  the  expression  of  my  face.  As  he  turned  those  large, 
dark,  gray  eyes,  with  their  long  lashes,  and  finely  arched  brow  full 
upon  me,  I  felt  that  his  conquest  was  complete. 

"  Pull  that,"  I  replied,  glad  to  have  an  apology  for  coming  beside 
him,  he  had  attracted  me  so  strongly  ;  and  I  pointed  to  the  knob. 

As  he  did  so,  his  face  assumed  an  expression  that  told  a  whole 
volume  of  his  character  in  a  single  glance.  He  was  a  mechanic,  and 
had  just  discovered  what  was  to  him  a  new  application  of  mechani- 
cal force.  He  would  be  a  designer — an  inventor  —  I  saw  it  all  in 
that  one  look. 

By  this  time  the  door  was  open. 

"Is  Mr.  G-.  at  home?"  asked  the  boy. 

"No,  he  is  not — of  course  not  to-day,"  replied  the  man,  with  that 
superciliousness  of  manner  which  pampered  ignorance  is  wont  to  as- 
sume, in  addressing  one  of  a  supposed  inferior  station.  "If  you've 
brought  anything,  you  can  leave  it  though,"  added  the  servant,  with 
an  air  which  he  intended  to  show  off  as  wonderfully  gracious  and 
patronizing,  for,  with  the  tact  of  his  caste,  he  had  perceived  the  in- 
terest I  took  in  the  matter.  Still  the  boy  hesitated.  That  "  of 
course"  was  evidently  a  poser ;  but  still  he  seemed  revolving  some- 
thing else  in  his  mind. 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  may  as  well  go  in  and  wait,  for  I  have  no 
where  else  to  wait;"  he  said  at  length,  looking  up  timidly  at  the 
servant. 

This  was  a  point  too  much  for  the  ideas  of  exclusiveness  which 
had  taken  possession  of  that  functionary ;  and  he  roared  out  a  tre- 
mendous laugh.  "  There  are  two  words  to  that  bargain,  Mr.  Snuff- 
color  !"  he  said  at  length,  trying  to  be  pompous — a  state  which  it  is 
extremely  difficult  to  accommodate  with  a  broad  grin  ;  and  again  he 
did  homage  to  his  own  wit  by  another  roar.  The  boy  was  perplex- 
ed and  distressed ;  for  he  had  all  the  sensibility  of  a  finely  organized 
nature,  which  hightened  to  an  intolerable  degree  the  diffidence  one 


The  Young  Architect.  545 


'3 


feels  in  a  wholly  new  position,  and  that  too,  on  a  higher  plane  of  ex- 
terior position  than  he  has  been  accustomed  to. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  guess  I'd  better  go  along,  then." 

"  Well,  I  rather  guess  you  had  !"  was  the  response,  in  a  mimick- 
ing tone  ;  "  and  be  so  kind  as  to  make  quick  work  of  it — Out  of  the 
way,  vagabond  !  and  let  the  gentlemen  pass  !"  added  the  servant,  as 
several  gallants  appeared  at  the  door;  and  the  poor  little  fellow, 
with  tears  in  his  beautiful  dark  eyes,  turned  to  obey. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  look  he  gave  me.  It  is  strange  ;  but  I 
am  haunted  by  it  forever.  The  expression  of  contempt —  scorn — 
which  was  the  first  impulse,  passed  quickly  away  ;  and  then  awoke 
a  glorious  self-reliance,  that  stood  back  on  its  own  strength — its  own 
dignity — with  a  feeling  that  that  was  invulnerable.  I  never  until 
that  time  had  much  id,ja  of  human  fraternity  ;  but  I  felt  at  the  mo- 
ment as  if  I  could  have  clasped  that  poor  bo}^  to  my  breast,  and  call- 
ed him  brother.  Ah,  why  did  I  not  ?  How  much  anguish  such  a 
step  would  have  saved  me.  But  I  am  getting  away  from  my  sub- 
ject. 

The  boy  looked  first  up  street  and  then  down,  and  then  into  va- 
rious cross-ways,  which,  by  this  time,  for  it  was  yet  early  in  the  day, 
had  begun  to  be  filled  with  carriages  and  foot  passengers. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  young  man  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Well,  I  guess — I  don't  know — "  he  answered,  hesitatingly  and 
sadly.  What  a  contrast  did  that  simple  answer  make  to  the  bustling 
forms  and  eager,  happy  faces  that  were  all  pressing  forward  to  some 
scene  of  social  joys  !  What  a  depth  of  shadow  the  "  populous  soli- 
tude" of  the  great,  unknown  city  must  have  cast  on  that  young  and 
simple  heart !  The  poor,  fellow  tried  to  whistle,  as  if  for  company  ; 
but  his  notes  were  all  quavers,  and  in  spite  of  his  efforts,  the  tears 
came. 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  stranger,"  I  said ;  for  the  attraction  was  so 
strong  I  could  not  leave  him.  "  May  I  ask  why  you  have  come  here, 
and  whether  you  are  alone  ?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  see  Mr.  Gr. ;  and  I  am  alone,  because  there  was 
no  one  to  come  with  me." 

At  the  last  clause  his  voice  fell  into  a  tone  of  pathos  which  was 
most  tender — most  touching.  It  revealed  a  great  deal  to  me  of  lone- 
liness, self-depenence — orphanage. 

"  And  why  are  you  seeking  Mr.  G.?"  I  asked  again. 

"  To  study  with  him,  if  he  will  take  me,  and  I  expect  he  will. 


546  THE    HESPERIAN. 

Do  you  not  know  he  is  a  great  architect  ?  And  I,  too,  shall  be  an 
architect!"  Again  that  same  glorious  expression  broke  forth,  irra- 
diating his  whole  countenance — nay,  his  whole  person.  "I  have 
come  to  seek  my  fortune,"  he  added,  "  and  I  am  pretty  sure  I  shall 
find  it." 

"  Ah,  my  boy,  it  is  a  hazardous  quest  in  this  great  and  selfish 
city ! " 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said,  "  but  I  am  never  scared  at  trifles.  Look 
here,"  he  added,  carefully  unfolding  the  envelopes  of  a  small  package 
he  carried  under  his  arm,  and  taking  out  a  model  of  a  cottage. 

I  took  the  little  structure,  which  was  delicate  and  graceful 
enough  for  a  fairy  palace,  and  examined  it  with  a  critical  eye ;  for 
there  was  in  me,  too,  a  great  taste  for  the  arts,  and  for  this  one  in  par- 
ticular. The  style  was  wholly  new,  or  rather  it  was  a  combination 
of  whatever  was  most  appropriate  in  several  styles,  yet  modified  and 
adapted  with  a  completely  original  effect.  And  there  was  a  philos- 
ophy and  good  sense  in  all  its  appointments,  which  indicated  not  only 
maturity,  but  depth  of  thought. 

"  And  who  is  the  author  of  this  beautiful — this  wonderful  work  ?" 
I  asked. 

He  blushed  with  a  sweet  modesty  that  tempered  and  beautified 
his  proud  look,  as  he  replied,  "  I  made  it,  sir." 

"  But  this,"  I  persisted,  "  gives  evidence,  not  only  of  great  genius 
and  mathematical  knowledge,  but  of  an  intelligent  study  of  the  finest 
models  in  art,  which — "  I  hesitated  to  suggest  anything  which  might 
seem  a  disparagement  to  his  appearance,  and  then  added,  "  in  the 
country  where  you  have  lived,  I  should  hardly  think  you  could  find 
these." 

"  As  to  mathematics,"  he  responded,  "  I  have  the  good  fortune 
to  be  considered  a  pretty  tolerable  scholar  in  that  study.  Our  min- 
ister has  taught  me  that,  and  a  great  deal  more ;  but  he  doesn't  know 
much  about  architecture,  either  as  an  art  or  science.  I  believe  I 
took  that  out  of  my  own  head,  and  what  few  books  on  mechanics  I 
have  read." 

Was  it  possible  that  I  heard  aright — that  I  was  really  listening  to 
this  raw  youth  of  the  Green  Mountains,  speaking  of  these  recondite 
subjects  in  such  a  truly  artistic  and  manly  style. 

"  Tell  me  something  of  yourself,"  I  continued.  "I  already  feel 
a  great  interest  in  you.  What  do  you  know  of  Mr.  Gr.?  Have  you 
parents?" 


The  Young  Architect.  547 


<6 


"  Mr.  G."  he  replied,  "  was  a  friend  of  my  father.  I  am  of  Eng- 
lish parentage.  My  father  was  lost  by  shipwreck  on  his  passage  to 
this  country,  before  I  was  born  ;  but  my  mother  was  rescued  from 
the  wreck  and  carried  into  Boston.  She  survived  only  a  few  weeks, 
and  died  in  giving  life  to  me.  I  was  then  taken  care  of  by  a  gentle- 
man to  whose  house  my  poor  mother  had  been  carried,  and  treated 
with  much  kindness.  But  in  my  fifth  year  my  protector  failed  in 
business,  at  which  he  became  heart-broken  and  died.  I  was  then 
cast  on  the  world — or  rather  on  the  town  ;  for  we  had  removed  to 
the  north-western  part  of  Massachusetts.  I  did  not  long  remain  at 
the  poor-house.  A  good  widow,  who  had  just  lost  an  only  child, 
adopted  me  ;  and  though  she  was  very  poor,  and  earned  her  living  by 
daily  labor,  she  had  a  mind  far  above  her  condition.  She  was  to  me 
the  kindest  and  best  of  mothers  ;  and  if  ever  I  am  anything,  I  am 
sure  I  shall  owe  it  to  her.  As  soon  as  I  was  able  to  do  anything 
worth  while,  I  used  to  work  on  the  neighboring  farms,  summers. 
"Winters  I  went  to  the  village  school ;  and  I  also  got  Latin,  Greek, 
and  Mathematics,  under  the  care  of  our  minister,  who  was  always 
very  good  to  me.  I  used  to  study  and  recite  my  lessons  to  him  even- 
ings. But  my  adopted  mother  died  a  few  months  ago,  and  now  I  am 
all  alone  in  the  world,  and  have  got  to  look  out  for  myself." 

He  saw  how  much  I  was  affected  by  this  simple  narrative,  and 
coming  close  to  me,  he  took  my  hand,  and  looking  up  with  an  ex- 
pression of  innocent  confidence,  he  said:  "you  have  spoken  to  me 
very  kindly,  sir,  and  you  look  very  encouragingly — you  cannot  think 
how  happy  it  has  made  me.  You  understand  me  ;  but  nobody  else 
has  treated  me,  or  looked  at  me,  as  if  they  believed  me  a  human  be- 
ing, since  I  came  here." 

I  was  just  going  to  hand  him  my  card,  and  enjoin  it  upon  him  to 
call  on  me — nay,  to  come  and  stay  with  me,  until  I  could  find  bet- 
ter protection  for  him,  when  I  was  accosted  by  two  friends,  who  had 
come  to  take  me  in  their  carriage  through  the  tour  of  calls  which 
ceremony  had  made  the  paramount  duty  of  the  day. 

"  Come,"  said  one  of  them,  "  we  have  been  seeking  you  this  half 
hour.  We  are  already  late.  I  am  afraid  we  shall  not  rejoice  to-day 
in  the  first  bright  smiles  of  our  favorite,  Miss  S.  Others  will  be  on 
the  ground  before  us.  Why,  it  is  already  past  eleven,"  he  added, 
taking  out  his  watch.  "  See  !  here  is  the  carriage.  Let  us  make  up 
for  lost  time." 


548  THE    HESPERIAN. 

Strange  and  incomprehensible  weakness  of  human  nature  !  Could 
I  have  been  ashamed  to  say  to  those  men,  because  they  were  rich  and 
fashionable,  that  I  felt  ah  interest  in  that  poor  boy — that  I  did  not 
care  for  Miss  S.  or  any  other  belle — that  the  highest  and  deepest  in- 
terest of  my  heart,  for  the  present,  centered  in  him.  I  blush  to  think 
that  this  was  partially  true.  I  suffered  myself  to  be  hurried  awa}r ; 
and  that  without  learning  either  the  name,  residence,  or  present  stop- 
ping-place of  that  poor,  friendless,  but  noble  and  generous  boy — 
without  having  taken  any  steps  which  could  secure  his  safety.  I  did 
not  even  bid  him  adieu.  But  I  threw  out  my  card  to  him  ;  and  as 
if  to  punish  me  for  my  vanity,  and  unpardonable  neglect,  I  saw  it 
crushed  into  the  snow,  under  one  of  the  horses'  feet.  I  would  have 
stopped  the  carriage,  for  the  purpose  of  making  good  the  loss  and 
giving  explicit  directions,  but  at  the  moment  our  vehicle  locked 
wheels  with  another;  and  the  whole  street  was  but  one  close  net- 
work of  struggling  and  flying  wheels.  Before  we  got  fairly  out  of 
the  mesh,  we  were  far  up  town.  Why  did  I  not  stop  then,  and  in- 
sist on  going  back,  as  my  heart  was  loudly  admonishing  me  to  do  ? 
Why,  but  because  we  sometimes  suffer  our  most  important  actions 
to  be  swayed  by  the  most  trifling  circumstances  But  the  penalty 
has  been  a  heavy  and  a  bitter  one.  Amid  all  the  festivities  of  the 
day  an  image  of  that  poor,  forlorn  stranger  was  continually  present. 
It  haunted  me  like  a  spectre.  I  was  dragged  through  the  formali- 
ties incumbent  upon  me  in  perfect  misery. 

Early  the  following  morning  I  called  on  Mr.  G.,  but  learned  that 
he  was  absent  from  the  city,  having  left  on  express  business  the  even- 
ing before — and  that  he  would  not  return  in  several  weeks.  No  lover 
ever  hung  round  the  dwelling  of  his  mistress  more  fondly  than  I 
around  that  house,  during  the  whole  absence  of  Mr.  G.,  still  hoping 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  my  young  protege,  and  making  almost  daily 
calls  to  inquire  when  the  gentleman  would  be  home  again.  At  length 
he  came,  and  having  obtained  the  earliest  possible  audience,  I  laid 
the  matter  before  him. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  that  must  be  the  son  of  my 
old  friend,  George  Bennett !  The  circumstances  all  agree ;  and, 
moreover,  I  have  heard  that  he  was  coming  to  me !" 

If  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  on  me  I  could  not  have  received  a 
greater  shock.     I  staggered  back  and  nearly  fell. 

"Pray,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  Are  you  ill?"  inquired 
Mr.  G. 


The  Young  Architect,  549 

"  He  is  my  brother!"  was  all  that  I  could  utter.  "He  is  my 
brother,  and  I  have  forsaken  him!" 

The  effect  on  a  highly  nervous  and  excitable  temperament  was 
powerful.  A  brain  fever  was  the  result ;  and  in  the  periods  of  mad- 
ness they  said  I  continually  raved  for  my  brother,  sometimes  stretch- 
ing out  my  arms  to  embrace  him,  and  again  deploring  his  loss  in  the 
most  passionate  expressions  of  grief;  while  in  the  lucid  intervals  I 
enjoined  search — instant  search — and  advertising,  on  all  who  came 
near  me. 

My  parents,  nearly  fifteen  years  before,  had  left  England  with  the 
intention  of  settling  in  this  country  ;  but  my  grandmother  persuaded 
them  to  leave  me  with  her,  as  it  was  her  intention  to  follow,  as  soon 
as  she  could  make  arrangements  in  regard  to  some  property  she  had 
to  dispose  of.  The  vessel  was  lost,  and  I  never  heard  before  of  my 
mothers's  rescue  from  the  wreck.  There  could  be  no  possible  mis- 
take. The  name,  and  all  the  circumstances  which  he  related  of  his 
parents  corresponded  with  mine  ;  and  the  concurring  evidence  of  Mr. 
G.  came  in  to  strengthen  the  testimony.  That  gentleman  had  known 
my  father  well;  though  I  had  never  before  been  apprised  of  the  fact, 
or  I  should  have  made  his  accruaintance.  He  had  heard,  too,  that  his 
widow  left  a  son — and  that  the  child  was  a  very  remarkable  boy — 
corresponding  exactly  in  character  and  attainments  with  my  young 
friend.  But  the  persons  who  had  given  him  these  accounts  were 
then  absent  from  the  country,  and  he  knew  not  their  address  ;  nei- 
ther had  he  ever  learned  anything  of  the  protectors  or  place  of  resi- 
dence of  the  little  hero  ;  or  if  he  had,  they  seemed  irrecoverably  for- 
gotten. 

It  was,  doubtless,  the  striking  resemblance  of  the  boy  to  both  our 
parents,  but  especially  our  mother,  that  first  attracted  me.  I  had 
yearned  continually  after  my  lost  kindred,  and  it  would  seem  as  if  it 
were  a  premonition  that  some  fragment  was  yet  left  that  had  drawn 
me  hither,  with  the  first  moment  at  which  I  could  take  possession  of 
the  liberal  fortune  I  inherited  from  a  maternal  relative.  I  had  longed 
so  for  these  dear  family  ties.  And  when  I  had  found  a  brother,  in 
the  glorious  young  spirit  I  have  described,  that  the  blessing  should 
be  dashed  from  my  heart  before  I  could  have  once  embraced  it — nay, 
that  my  own  accursed  folly  and  vanity  had  thrust  the  treasure  from 
my  arms,  was  too  bitter.  The  thought  was  a  continual  torture — a 
lasting  madness. 


550  THE    HESPERIAN. 

No  exertion  was  spared.  As  soon  as  I  was  able  to  stir,  I  recom- 
menced my  search.  Artists'  rooms,  but  especially  those  of  architects, 
were  visited  again  and  again,  and  a  description  of  the  boy  left  with 
all.  He  was  advertised  in  every  quarter.  There  was  no  boarding 
or  lodging-house,  but  I  haunted  for  years.  I  have  continued — and 
still  continue  my  quest,  though  it  is  well  nigh  hopeless.  And  I  am 
rich,  while  he  was  very  poor.  I  loathed  every  luxury  in  which  I 
once  reveled.  I  directly  established  myself  in  plain  lodgings,  fed  on 
the  coarsest  viands,  and  slept  on  straw  ;  for  how  should  he  have  bet- 
ter than  these  ?  With  every  return  of  the  holidays  I  keep  solemn 
fast,  and  mourn  for  my  great,  my  irremediable  loss.  Ah,  my  broth- 
er !  why  was  there  not  some  kind  spirit  near,  to  whisper  thy  name 
and  claims  more  intelligibly  to  my  heart  ?  But  something  still  as- 
sures me  that  thou  art  living.  I  see  thee  often  in  my  dreams,  vir- 
tuous and  honorable ;  and  I  rest  my  weary  head  on  thy  noble  and 
fraternal  heart.  Waking,  I  stretch  out  my  arms  to  thee,  into  the 
great  void  which  thy  presence  would  make  so  beautiful. 


A     GOLDEN    WEDDING 


The  parents  of  Mrs.  E.  A.  Simonton  Page, — one  of  our  contrib- 
utors, .who  has  written  some  of  the  best  poetry  ever  produced  in 
California, — recently  celebrated  this  beautiful  custom,  unintention- 
ally, in  Portland,  Maine.  The  party  was  an  entire  surprise  to  the 
venerable  pair.  Without  the  slightest  warning,  relatives  and  friends 
came  thronging  in  upon  them  with  greetings  and  gifts.  In  the  mean 
time  a  supper  table  had  been  laid  with  the  choicest  viands,  and  to 
that  in  due  season  the  guests  repaired.  As  the  Bride  and  Groom 
took  their  places  at  the  head  of  the  table,  their  eyes  rested  on  a  cup 
containing  one  hundred  gold  dollars,  fifty  for  each, — the  gift  of  two 
daughters  now  in  San  Francisco, — accompanying  which  was  this 

verse  : 

The  care  and  love  of  our  parents  dear 

We  never  can  repay ; 
But  a  golden  kiss  for  every  year 

We  send  —  since  their  wedding  day. 

After  supper,  the  following  poems, — one  by  Mrs.  Page,  and  the 
other  by  her  sister, — were  read : 


A  Golden  Wedding.  551 

ODE. 

Inscribed  to  my  Parents  on  the  occasion  of  their  " Golden  Wedding." 

BY   MRS.   E.   A.   SIMONTON    PAGE. 

I. 

Hail  to  this  Golden  Wedding  night ! 

God's  benediction  with  each  guest  abide. 

His  blessing  be  upon  the  time, 

On  Bridegroom  and  on  Bride  ! 

The  marriage-rite 

Which  God  hath  hallowed  and  true  love  hath  blest, 

Changeless,  unbroken,  strong  through  time's  unrest, 

Five  decades  make  sublime. 

II. 
Bridegroom  and  Bride  of  fifty  years — 
Back  from  this  Golden  Wedding  day, 
One  half  a  century  of  hopes  and  fears, 
Of  blossoming  joys  and  dusky  vales  of  tears, 
Stretches  into  the  solemn  past  away. 
Yet  time  hath  touched  them  with  rare  gentleness, 
As  if  an  angel  had  but  passed,  to  bless  ! 
Keeping  the  "  memory  green," 
The  step  elastic,  brow  serene, 
The  heart  through  trials  trustful,  warm  and  gay, 
As  if  youth  vanished  only  yesterday. 

in. 

Through  varying  paths  their  feet  have  trod, 

This  Bridegroom  and  this  Bride — 

And  buds  have  blossomed  at  their  side  ; 

Some  are  transplanted  far  and  wide, 

Some  rest  with  God. 

They  have  beheld  time's  silver  snow 

Falling  on  many  an  honored  brow, 

Like  messenger  of  winter,  heralding 

The  eternal  spring. 

In  light  and  shade  life's  sands  have  run, 

Ofttimes  like  diamonds  dropping  in  the  sun — 

And  in  death-shadowed  years 

Darkly,  like  tears. 

IV. 

The  old  home  rings  no  more  with  childish  glee. 
Outled  by  irresistless  fate, 


552  THE    HESPERIAN. 

Our  paths  are  severed  wide — 

Far  as  Pacific's  restless  tide 

Showering  its  pearls  within  the  Golden  Gate, 

From  where  fair  Casco  Bay  with  murmurous  pride 

Sweeps  out  to  greet  the  sea ; — 

Far  as  the  great  commercial  mart 

That  throbs  with  traffic  like  the  nation's  heart, 

From  prairies  green — 

Enriching  summer  with  their  billowy  sheen  ; — 

Far  as  the  earth,  with  all  its  sorrow,  lies 

From  Paradise  ! 

v„ 
And  yet  we  all  are  here  in  heart  ! 
Absent,  divided,  or  unseen, 
With  distance,  time  or  death  between, 
The  loving  what  shall  part  ] 
The  Father's  eye 
Beholds  one  grand  immensity — 
No  space,  no  time, 

Dividing  world  from  world,  and  clime  from  clime ; 
No  closely  barred  celestial  doors, 
Shutting  from  mortal  sight  Heaven's  pearly  floors  ; 
And  since  true  love  keeps  true  hearts  near, 
We  all  are  here  ! 

VI. 

Since  these  were  wed, 

How  science  on  its  marvelous  course  hath  sped  ! 

Earth,  air  and  sky,  and  seas 

Have  yielded  up  to  man  the  golden  keys 

Of  their  long-sealed  mysteries. 

In  ether's  purple  night 

His  prescient  eye  discerns  new  worlds  of  light, 

Dropping  like  jewels  from  the  hand  of  God. 

The  crystal  flood 

Like  an  imprisoned  Titan  writhes  and  toils, 

With  vaporous  breath  and  thunderous  turmoils, 

Fulfilling  his  behest  on  sea  and  land. 

Man's  will  and  power  coerce 

The  electric  forces  of  the  universe, 

That,  like  invisible  couriers,  bear 

His  secrets  through  the  palpitating  air — 

O'er  wastes,  and  mounts,  and  moors, 


A   Golden  Wedding.  553 

Through  ocean's  emerald  corridors, 

Soundless  and  grand  ! 

The  sun,  with  quenchless  splendors  fraught, 

Centre  of  worlds,  his  patient  limner  stands, 

Sketching  with  matchless  grace 

The  human  form  and  face, 

And  scenic  majesty  of  unseen  lands. 

Ah  !  nameless  miracles  hath  science  wrought, 

Since  the j  were  one  in  name,  and  life  and  thought. 

VII. 

When  the  j  were  wed,  hand  joined  hand 

To  shield  from  foreign  foes  our  native  land. 

Northmen  and  Southrons  vied 

To  guard  the  country  claimed  with  loyal  pride ; 

And  now  they  stand  arrayed, 

Wielding  the  keen-edged  battle-blade, 

Brothers  and  foes  ! 

God  grant  them  life  to  see 

The  ensanguined  conflict  close, 

Triumphantly  ! 

VIII. 

Blessings  on  Bridegroom  and  on  Bride  ! 
Children  and  children's  children  far  away, 
With  sacred  gladness  celebrate  this  day. 
Here,  children  and  their  children  bring 
Their  gifts,  a  grateful  offering, 
With  filial  love  and  pride. 

Henceforth,  for  them,  may  every  lingering  year 
Be  golden  time  ! 

God's  love  enfold  them  like  an  atmosphere — 
His  smile  enrich  life's  close 
With  opulent  sunset,  leading  to  repose 
Eternal  and  sublime. 
San  Francisco,  Cal.,  Oct.  20,  1862. 


A  goodly  pair,  in  green  old  age  ; 
Long  may  they  live  ! 


554  THE    HESPERIAN. 

Peace,  plenty  crown  their  latest  stage ; 
Long  may  they  live  ! 

A  rare  good  sight,  still  side  by  side  ! 

With  joyous  tears 
We  greet  you  now,  Bridegroom  and  Bride 

Of  fifty  years ! 

Let  love  and  joy  sweet  youth  renew, 

And  hold  all  sway  ; 
While  eighteen  twelve  and  sixty-two 

Clasp  hands  to-day. 

The  present  looks  back  on  the  past 

Through  years  well  tried, 
And  sees  in  one  two  fortunes  cast, 

The  love-knot  tied. 

"  For  better"  proved,  no  doubting  more — 
All  fears  disperse ; 
You  've  nought  to  do  but  bless  your  stars 
'T  was  not  "  for  worse"  ! 

We  gather  here,  with  willing  feet, 

Around  this  board, 
And  wish  you  joy — of  things  to  eat, 

And  things  to  hoard. 

Dame  Fortune  pays  her  best  respects 

With  smiles  of  gold  ; 
And,  kindly  grown,  new  scores  expects 

Shall  cancel  old. 

Your  children,  scattered  far  and  long 

With  joy  unite 
To  make  with  gifts,  and  feast  and  song, 

A  gala  night.  * 

The  absent  send  their  thoughts  through  space 

To  meet  with  ours  ; 
We'll  hold  them  in  love's  close  embrace, 

These  passing  hours. 

And  some  that  wear  Heaven's  glory-crown 

With  us  rejoice, 
And  bear  its  richest  blessings  down 

With  "  still,  small  voice." 


A  Homestead.  555 

Let  cheerful  hearts,  then,  youth  renew, 

Though  locks  grow  gray  ; 
Children,  and  children's  children  too, 

Shall  bless  this  day. 

Your  love,  their  choicest  heritage. 

This  toast  we  give — 
A  goodly  pair,  in  green  old  age  ; 

Long  may  they  live  ! 


A    HOMESTEAD. 


BY    S.    W.    JEWETT. 


The  Congressional  Act  of  the  20th  of  May  last,  allowing  one  hund- 
red and  sixty  acres  of  land  to  actual  settlers,  is  now  in  full  force. 
That,  or  a  less  amount  of  surveyed  land  can  be  secured  by  paying 
the  nominal  sum  of  ten  dollars.  I  have  seen  no  country  embracing 
good  soil  and  water,  and  a  healthy,  congenial  climate,  equal  to  many 
interior  localities  in  southern  California.  There  the  herding  and  rais- 
ing of  stock  must  be  a  good  business,  as  well  as  the  cultivation  of  the 
soil. 

The  agriculturist  may  sit  under  his  own  fig  tree,  and  eat  the  fruits 
of  both  the  tropical  and  temperate  zones,  grown  in  abundance  and  at 
little  expense  by  himself.  Among  the  productions  of  that  region  are 
pears,  peaches,  figs,  olives,  raspberries,  etc.,  also  wheat,  barley,  pota- 
toes, melons,  etc.  Orchards  and  vineyards  are  being  planted,  also 
tobacco,  and  the  mulberry  for  silk.  The  inexhaustible  mining  dis- 
tricts newly  opened,  will  take  all  of  the  surplus  productions,  includ- 
ing honey,  butter,  eggs  and  poultry.  There  are  many  valleys  yet 
lying  in  a  state  of  nature,  picturesque  and  beautiful,  studded  in  their 
surroundings  with  verdant  foot-hills,  and  further  in  the  back-ground, 
mountain  peaks  rising  in  stately  grandeur,  adding  to  the  enchant- 
ment and  sublimity  of  the  scene.  These  hills  often  enclose  valleys 
of  several  miles  in  extent,  abounding  in  fine  water,  mineral  springs, 
and  the  usual  mountain  game,  and  fish  that  float  in  the  cool  snow 
waters  as  they  rush  down  from  the  white  capped  mountains  in  the 
distance.  Here  communities  or  families  who  are  tired  of  the  discord- 
ant scenes  of  life  can  establish  peaceful  homes  in  some  quiet  dell 


556  THE    HESPERIAN. 

protected  from  the  sweep  of  winds,  where  cool  breezes  are  wafted 
over  the  shaded  plain,  to  fan  them  in  labor  or  repose.  Here  they 
can  find  rest  from  toil ;  here  the  productive  soil  can  be  made  to  teem 
with  all  the  beauties,  bounties,  and  common  necessaries  of  life. 


A    FROSTY    MORNING 


BY  PIP.  PEPPERPOD. 


I. 

The  sullen  sky  is  brooding  o'er  the  sea, 

A  cold,  white  line  of  foam  doth  seem  to  break 
Into  an  angry  growl  along  the  lea, 

And  toss  in  wild  commotion  foam  and  flake. 
The  sea-birds  shiver  on  the  slimy  rocks ; 

Far  out  upon  the  waves  so  sharp  and  free, 
The  twinkling  sails  that  toss  in  snowy  flocks, 

Seem  phantom  plumes  of  armies  in  the  sea. 
Thin  clips  of  cloud  are  chilly  in  the  sky, 

And  frosty  sands  are  flashing  on  the  shore. 
Lo  !   sunbeams  now  are  creeping  out,  as  shy 

As  maids ;  and  dancing  up  the  dells,  and  o'er 
The  cliff  that  towers  in  majesty  by  me, 
They  pour  their  beauty  in  the  frozen  sea. 

II. 

I  lingered  in  the  shadows  like  a  bat, 

With  feathers  chilled  and  clodded  in  the  gloom. 
Unheeding  in  my  sorrow  this  or  that, 

I  felt  the  dampness  folding  like  a  doom 
About  me,  and  to  heaven  with  tearful  eyes 

I  pleading  turned.     Lo  !  all  the  steel-gray  clouds 
"Were  nursed  in  blooming  blushes,  and  the  skies 

Lay  warmly  o'er  the  waves,  yet  in  their  shrouds 
Of  flaming  whiteness.     Once  again  I  turned. 

The  sunlight  lingei'ed  all  along  the  land  ; 
The  sea,  as  paved  with  jewels,  brightly  burned 

In  brilliant  splendors ;   and  the  flashing  sand 
Sounded  glad  anthems  to  the  God  of  light, 
Who  banished  all  their  sorrows  with  the  night. 


Lasting   Honor.  557 

III. 

Now  soberly— if  boys  may  moralize, 

(And  Pip's  a  boy  as  yet,)  methinks  I'll  wed 
To  life  these  trifling  songs  of  mine,  where  lies 

So  little  of  that  solid  sense  that's  said 
To  glow  like  luminous  pearls  from  out  the  sea 

Of  worthless  wordings  cast  from  lesser  minds. 
I'll  say  my  little  life  has  been  to  me 

(And  so  have  other's  doubtless.     One  oft'  finds 
A  thousand  echoes  in  the  hearts  of  friends 

Voiceless,  till  chance  doth  bring  you  hand  to  hand.) 
O'er  full  of  frosty  mornings,  and  my  ends, 

Else  fair  and  glorious,  seemed  with  sorrow  spanned, 
Until  at  last  morn  busts  my  sorrow  bubbles, 
And  calms  the  frettings  of  my  "  sea  of  troubles." 


LASTING     HONOR. 


BY    REV.    J.     D.     STRONG. 


Nothing  can  be  more  amusing  or  more  sad  to  the  thoughtful  than 
the  scramble  daily  going  on  among  the  little  souls  around  us  for  fame 
and  place.  Were  hopes  of  success  based  ouly  on  merit,  or  were  mere 
pretenders  doomed  to  immediate  disappointment,  the  scene  would  be  in- 
vested with  a  deeper  interest ;  but  under  our  present  social  system  the 
weakest  and  meanest  often  seem  to  be  the  most  successful.  Yet  per- 
mament  success  is  the  reward  of  merit  alone.  Only  the  true  servants 
of  the  world  are  eventually  rewarded  with  its  praise.  Lasting  re- 
nown is  never  the  gift  of  accident.  The  connection  of  effect  with  its 
cause  is  as  unvarying  in  the  sequences  of  human  conduct  as  in  the 
sequences  of  nature ;  and  if  any  one  lesson  of  history  be  more  em- 
phatic than  another,  it  is  the  folly  of  those  who  dream  of  greatness 
while  droning  life  away.  The  soul  that  lives  as  though  its  only  mis- 
sion in  society  is  to  eat,  sleep  and  breathe,  might  as  reasonably  ex- 
pect to  travel  to  the  stars  as  to  secure  the  lasting  admiration  of  men. 
Much  less  may  the  pampered,  luxurious,  bloated  worldling,  who 
steels  his  heart  to  the  voice  of  humanity,  and  feeds  on  the  tears  and 
groans  and  breaking  hearts  of  the  poor  and  weak,  expect  from  pos- 


558  THE    HESPERIAN. 

terity  anything  save  hatred  and  contempt  while  living  and  a  well 
earned  ignominy  when  dead.     No  Nero  or' Alexander  VI.  ever  lives, 
except  in  the  detestation  felt  for  his  crimes.     Could  many  a  modern 
Dionysius  but  hear  the  smothered  curses  of  his  victims,  and  then  con- 
centrate in  his  great  "  ear"  all  the  indignant  voices  of  the  future,  his 
heart  must  recoil  with  horror  from  the  ever  blackening  heritage  of 
infamy.     Could  the  modern   Croesus  appreciate  the  feelings  of  the 
wretches  reduced  to  beggary  by  his  avarice,  every  shining  piece  in 
his  coffers  would  become  a  scorpion's  sting  to  his  pampered  soul. 
There  is  something  terrible  in  these  retributions  which   humanity 
deals  out  to  its  abusers.     And  such  vampires  on  the  life  of  the  race 
are  justly  doomed  to  a  notoriety,  in  comparison  with  which  oblivion 
would  be  mercy.     There  is  a  meanness — an  unutterable  meanness, 
in  the  spirit  of  those  who  live  by  preying  on  the  rights  and  interests 
of  others,  without  adding  their  own  contribution  to  the  general  wel- 
fare ;  and  however  complacently  they  may  regard  their  own  fancied 
superiority  to  the  vulgar  populace,  they  are  justly  hated  by  their  vic- 
tims and  abhorred  by  an  indignant  world  as  plague-spots  on  our  com- 
mon humanity.     Who  can  retire  within  the  narrow  circle  of  his  own 
selfishness  and,  in  unfeeling  disregard  of  the  wants  and  woes  of  oth- 
ers, squander  on  his  lusts  the  means  of  usefulness  which  a  bounteous 
providence  has  given  him,  or  who  can  enrich  himself  at  the  expense 
of  the  public  morals  and  welfare,  without  being  justly  deemed  an 
unsightly  and  injurious  excrescence  on  society  ?     What  learned  man 
can  spurn  the  ignorant,  as  did  Diogenes,  without  deserving  to  be  cal- 
led a  "  snarling  cynic  ?  "     Who  can  have  it  in  his  power  to  benefit 
and  bless  men,  yet  corrupt  their  life  and  rob  them  of  their  liberties, 
and  not  justly  incur  from  cotemporaries  and  from  posterity  a  burning 
and  unextinguishable  hatred?     Our  instincts  refuse  to  accord  such 
persons  respect.     We  loathe  them,  and  in  their  reflective  moments 
their  own  better  nature  sanctions  this  verdict  of  infamy. 

Equally  contemptible  are  those  who  seek  undeserved  renown. 
The  mountebank  who  by  arts  and  trickery  courts  a  reputation,  or  the 
fashion-monger  who  by  a  dazzling  display  of  dress  and  equipage  seeks 
to  attract  the  gaping  wonder  of  the  crowd,  or  the  moral  coward  who 
by  the  display  of  mere  brute  courage  aims  to  secure  applause,  is  as 
truly  a  swindler  as  the  rogue  who  gets  unlawful  possession  of  anoth- 
er's property.  No  pretender  has  a  right  to  fame  or  honor.  None  are 
entitled  to  admiration  except  as  the  reward  of  merit,  and  whoever 


Lasting   Honor.  559 

succeeds  in  acquiring  applause  on  any  other  terms  is  no  better  than 
a  thief  or  a  robber.  The  hero  is  worthy  of  renown,  yet  whoever 
seeks  renown  by  sacrificing  principle,  or  at  the  expense  of  the  wid- 
ow's tears,  the  orphan's  shrieks,  and  the  blood  and  groans  of  expiring 
men,  as  did  Alexander,  Caesar  and  Attilla,  deserves,  instead  of  honor, 
to  have  his  name  inscribed  in  ignominy  and  uttered  with  contempt 
by  every  tongue  on  the  globe  in  all  periods  of  the  world's  history. 
Only  those  who  do  good  instead  of  evil,  and  elevate  and  bless  instead 
of  injuring  and  debasing  men,  deserve  to  live  in  the  affectionate  re- 
membrance of  the  race ;  and  in  the  long  run  none  other  need  ex- 
pect either  love  or  admiration. 

It  is,  indeed,  proverbial  that  "  success  makes  the  hero,"  yet  the 
proverb  is  never  more  than  half  true,  and  in  the  end  invariably  false. 
Unless  based  on  solid  worth  the  most  brilliant  heroism  is  short  lived. 
The  remark  of  Bacon,  that  "  The  human  understanding  is  most  ex- 
cited by  that  which  strikes  and  enters  the  mind  at  once  and  sudden- 
ly, and  bjr  which  the  imagination  is  immediately  filled  and  inflated," 
may  be  substantially  correct ;  yet  first  impressions,  when  wrong,  in- 
variably yield  to  matured  judgments,  and  when  based  on  ignorance 
or  deception  are  followed  by  violent  revulsion.  As  the  same  philos- 
opher observes,  "  The  weakness  and  credulity  of  men  is  such,  that 
they  will  often  prefer  a  mountebank  or  a  witch  before  a  learned  phy- 
sician," yet  time  corrects  the  error.  It  strips  from  the  mountebank 
and  the  witch  the  lion's  skin,  and  rewards  their  impudence  with  the 
treadmill  and  the  halter.  It  weighs  the  claims  of  all  impartially,  and 
those  found  wanting  it  consigns  to  ignominy  or  oblivion.  Time  is 
fatal  to  the  hopes  of  the  ill-deserving.  It  withers  the  greenest  laur- 
els on  the  brow  of  the  pretender.  It  consigns  to  speedy  dissolution 
his  butterfly  robes  of  ephemeral  renown.  It  invariably  rectifies  hasty 
or  erroneous  conclusions,  and  deals  out  to  all  justice  to  the  letter. 
It  surveys  with  impartiality  men  and  things,  lifting  modest  worth 
from  obscurity  and  hurling  pretending  arrogance  to  ignominy  or  ob- 
livion. In  view  of  this  fact,  Matthew  Hale  called  time  "  the  wisest 
thing  under  heaven,"  and  Lamartine  defined  it  as  "  one  of  the  ele- 
ments of  truth  itself."  It  was  in  view  of  this  same  fact  that  the  first 
Napoleon  feared  that  his  fame  might  yet  fill  but  a  page  in  the  world's 
memory.  Retribution  often  overtakes  the  ill-deserving  even  in  his 
own  life  time,  and  the  unprincipled  aspirant  for  public  honor,  though 
like  Cardinal  Wolsey  he  may  have  attained  universal  fame,  is  hurled 
4 


560  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

from  his  lofty  position  to  the  lowest  depths  of  humiliation,  and  there, 
as  loathsome  as  a  dead  brute,  remains  forever.  The  true  servant  of 
the  world  alone  lives  in  the  world's  regards.  His  name  only  goes 
down  the  ages  with  honor. 


THE  SEA  OF  LIFE. 


BY  H.  C.  DORR. 


Life  hath  a  semblance  to  some  mighty  sea, 

Where  storms  and  tides  and  calms  that  quick  succeed, 

Bring  change  on  change  upon  the  rooling  waves  ; 

Our  hearts  like  ships  put  forth  upon  this  sea, 

Laden  perchance  with  strange  and  richest  gifts. 

Youth,  manhood  and  old  age,  are  distant  ports, 

To  which  our  varied  destinies  are  hound, 

Hope  takes  the  helm  a  pilot,  while  strong  will, 

To  rule  as  master  showeth  forth  his  skill, 

Thus  lays  a  course  to  seek  the  unknown  rest 

Where  winds  like  destiny  may  waft  us  there. 

The  haven  gained,  Time  bids  us  haste  away 

Where  other  ventures  ever  must  be  sought, 

'Mid  storms  and  calms,  where  temporary  rest 

Brings  short  tranquility — too  soon  mayhap 

The  tempest  comes,  that  leaves  a  useless  wreck 

To  float  awhile,  then  on  Life's  hidden  shore 

Beneath  the  sands  of  time,  'tis  seen  no  more. 


HOPE  ON. 


Hope  on ! 
Even  when  thy  heaven  is  clouded, 

See'st  thou  not, 
When  the  dark  night  is  shrouded, 

Stars  look  out  ] 
Though  they  are  hidden,  still  they  shine — 
Soon  shaft  thou  see  their  light  divine  ! 

Hope  on ! 
Often  the  dark  shadow  falleth 

Over  thy  soul : 
O'er  thee  the  storm  that  appalleth 

Often  must  roll ; 
Yet  but  remember,  liglit  must  be, 
Else  were  the  shadow  unseen  by  thee !       Duganne. 


Domett*    U*i*»Huuttt. 

UNFERMENTED    BREAD    AND   WHEAT    MEAL. 

[Continued.] 


BY   DR.  A.   KELLOGG. 


In  the  former  introductory  article  upon  this  subject,  our  main  pur- 
pose was  to  set  forth  certain  known  facts  of  science,  and  their  his- 
toric relation  to  the  present  state  of  this  department  of  knowledge. 

The  mechanical  and  practical  details  may  vary  according  to  cir- 
cumstances or  new  and  less  complicated  inventions,  but  not  so  the 
principles  upon  which  our  judgment  is  based. 

In  new  communities  like  our  own,  sanitary  committees  are  seldom 
if  ever  heard  of ;  indeed,  they  would  be  most  likely  to  be  hooted  at 
and  hunted  down  by  ridicule.  We  know  personally  many  an  honest 
baker  who  would  rejoice  to  learn  that  his  trade  was  under  the  benefi- 
cent supervision  of  municipal  authority.  I  believe  it  is  generally 
conceded  that  only  rogues  dread  the  wisest  and  best  laws.  Perhaps 
one  of  the  chief  reasons  why  so  little  interest  is  taken  in  topics  of 
this  description  is,  that  the  immediate  paramount  pursuit  is  lucre 
hunting. 

There  are  many  popular  errors  upon  this  subject  to  which  we 
first  invite  attention.  It  is  the  general  opinion  that  bread  made 
of  extra  fine  flour  is  the  best,  or  at  least  the  most  nourishing ; 
and  that  the  whiteness  is  the  proof  of  this  quality — great  errors,  as 
we  shall  see  in  the  sequel ;  that  the  bran  and  its  approximate  grades 
are  the  least  nutritious — the  very  waste  and  refuse  of  the  wheat ; 
whereas  the  bran  contains  the  nitrogenous  gluten,  the  most  concen- 
trated of  its  nutrient  constituents,  occupying  the  two  outer  layers  of 
cells,  the  remaining  central  portions  being  almost  entirely  starch.  It 
would  astonish  some  people  to  know — what  is  well  known  to  science, 
and  to  many  sagacious  millers,  and  not  a  few  observing  keepers  of 
domestic  animals — that  the  bran  is  the  cream  of  the  wheat,  and  that 
the  poor  rich  folks  were  living  in  real  skim-milk  style.  Perhaps 
their  surprise  would  be  greater  still  to  know  that  common  white 
bread  made  of  the  most  approved  flour  will  not  sustain  life.  This 
has  been  satisfactorily  proved  by  feeding  convicts  upon  it.     Yet  the 


562  THE    HESPERIAN. 

entire  meal,  of  which  the  genuine  brown  bread  is  made,  will  sustain 
both  life  and  health.  The  whitest  bread,  besides  being  the  least 
nourishing  in  the  truest  sense,  is  often  the  most  difficult  of  digestion. 
This  fact  may  be  easily  verified  by  inquiry  of  any  invalid,  by  the  aged, 
or  the  enfeebled.  Our  grandmother's  notion  is,  that  nearly  half  of 
all  our  diseases  could  be  cured  by  a  discreet  use  of  bran  and  water, 
and  the  other  half  prevented  by  brown  bread  ;  but  for  fear  of  alarm- 
ing our  Esculapian  brotherhood  we  wouldn't  have  it  whispered  for 
the  world.  You  have  our  permission,  however,  to  refer  them  to  their 
standard  author,  Dr.  Prout,  "  On  diseases  of  the  stomach,  etc.,"  page 
300.  "  Bread  made  with  flour  not  bolted,  or  even  with  an  extra 
quantity  of  bran,  is  the  best  form  in  which  farinaceous  and  excre- 
mental  matters  can  be  usually  taken,  not  only  in  diabetes,  but  in 
most  of  the  other  varieties  of  dyspepsia  accompanied  by  obstinate 
constipation.  This  is  a  remedy  the  efficacy  of  which  has  been  long 
known  and  admitted  ;  yet,  strange  to  say,  the  generality  of  mankind 
choose  to  consult  their  taste  rather  than  their  reason,  and,  officiously 
separating  what  nature  has  beneficially  combined,  entail  upon  them- 
selves much  discomfort  and  misery." 

Professor  Johnston,  of  the  University  of  Durham,  in  England,  has 
subjected  the  meal  and  fine  flour  of  wheat  to  chemical  analysis,  ac- 
cording to  which  the  flour  of  wheat  contains,  at  the  very  lowest  es- 
timate, 22  per  cent,  less  of  the  staminal  principles  of  nutrition  than 
the  entire  meal.  An  uncle  of  ours,  in  remarking  upon  this  subject, 
says,  if  to  this  estimate  is  added  the  smallest  allowance  for  the  mat- 
ters destroyed  by  fermentation,  we  shall  be  under  the  mark  in  saying 
th.Qst  fermented  flour  bread  contains  25  per  cent,  less  of  nutritious  in- 
gredients than  fermented  meal  bread.  This  loss  in  quality,  together 
with  the  loss  in  quantity — which  is  33  pounds  in  every  barrel  of  flour, 
i.  e.  a  barrel  of  flour  of  196  pounds  will  make  252  pounds  of  bread 
by  fermentation — whereas  by  effervescence  or  by  the  patent  process 
we  obtain  285  pounds,  leaving  a  balance  in  favor  of  the  latter  of  33 
pounds.  Hence  it  appears  for  every  75  loaves  of  fermented  bread  we 
might  possess  100  of  unfermented  meal  bread  ;  and  in  every  three  of  these  at 
least  as  much  nourishment  as  is  contained  in  four  of  the  other. 

Although  our  remarks  have  already  extended  beyond  the  limits 
of  a  domestic  treatise,  we  cannot  forbear  a  few  suggestions  for  the 
consideration  of  housewives  and  mothers.  It  affords  us  much  pleas- 
ure to  know  that  many,  if  not  most,  of  our  California  mothers  with 


TJnfermented  Bread  and  Wheat  Meal.  563 

whom  we  have  had  the  pleasure  of  an  acquaintance,  fully  appreciate 
the  importance  of  this  subject.  This  fact  speaks  volumes  in  favor  of 
their  intelligence,  and  is  prophetic  of  future  progress.  Is  it  not  at- 
tributable, in  a  good  degree,  to  the  salutary  influence  of  the  profes- 
sional portion  of  their  own  sex  ? 

In  a  preceding  paragraph  we  alluded  to  the  fact  that  the  miller 
in  his  efforts  to  please  the  good  housewife — who  is  too  often  dread- 
fully alarmed  at  the  least  shade  of  brown  in  the  flour — removes  most 
of  the  saline  and  earthy  substances  as  well  as  the  nutritious  gluten. 
Those  ingredients  are  indispensable  to  the  growth  of  the  bones  and 
teeth,  and  are  required  daily  to  repair  these  structures.  Females  who 
eat  white  bread  before  and  during  the  nursing  period,  entail  upon 
their  offspring  soft  and  rickety  bones,  and  weak  and  easily  decaying 
teeth  ;  in  short,  their  children  have  not  that  strong  and  ample  frame- 
work upon  which  fair  specimens  of  humanity  can  be  built.  For  this 
reason  white  pap  should  seldom  be  preferred  for  a  weaning  diet — as 
is  too  often  done — nor,  indeed,  during  the  young  and  rapidly  growing 
periods  of  life.  The  gluten  furnishes  the  pabulum  for  flesh  and  mus- 
cle. This,  therefore,  cannot  be  dispensed  with  any  more  than  our 
grandmothers  would  have  thought  of  leaving  out  the  "filling" — 
good  strong  warp  and  ample  filling,  was  their  motto.  Strange  to 
say,  the  very  last  improvement  (?)  is  an  invention  to  rid  the  meal  of 
this  most  salutory  substance,  which,  as  it  lies  next  to  the  bran,  is 
termed  "Bran  Flour."  No  recommendation  of  ours  would  be  need- 
ed if  our  readers  would  for  once  try  this  grade  for  thickening  their 
meat  gravies.  As  this  is  a  new  and  hitherto  unknown  grade,  there 
is  no  market  for  it — no  market  for  the  cream  of  the  wheat !  So  rich  is  it 
that  pressed  in  the  hand  it  coheres  like  a  snow-ball ;  and  as  there  ap- 
pears to  be  no  particular  use  for  it,  we  would  suggest  that  it  be 
thrown  by  the  millers  at  the  heads  of  their  patrons,  in  hopes  of  hit- 
ting the  soft  spot  we  read  of.  In  mature  age  our  appetites  are  ac- 
customed to  take  a  somewhat  omniverous  range  ;  we  thereby  acci- 
dentally make  some  poor  amends  for  the  lack  of  earthy  material  in 
our  bread,  but  could  we  candidly  consult 'those  in  the  prime  and  vig- 
or of  life,  we  make  no  doubt  their  sluggish  bowels  would  plead  loud- 
ly against  this  unnatural  privation  in  the  staff  of  life.  Must  foolish 
fashion,  fancy  and  physic  forever  hold  their  inexorable  sway  ?  If  so, 
we  must  submit  with  as  good  grace  as  possible. 

A  few  observations  and  recipes  will  conclude  this  notice  in  the 
following  number. 


564  THE    HESPERIAN. 

Note. — We  take  pleasure  in  acknowledging  our  obligations  to  the 
very  gentlemanly  proprietors  of  the  Golden  Gate  Flour  Mills,  Messrs. 
Davis  &  Co.,  Pine  street,  for  fine  samples  of  the  different  grades,  as 
well  as  certain  data  and  useful  information  which  has  enabled  us  to 
write  more  advisedly  upon  the  subject. 


Shrewsbury  Cake. — One  pound  of  flour,  three-quarters  of  a 
pound  of  sugar,  little  less  than  a  half  a  pound  of  butter,  one  nutmeg, 
half  a  tea-spoonful  of  soda,  four  eggs  and  a  little  rose  water.  Makes 
one  large  loaf. 

Indian  Cake. — One  pound  of  Indian  meal,  well  sifted,  half  a 
pound  of  butter,  three-quarters  of  a  pound  of  sugar,  four  eggs,  spice, 
a  little  soda.  Take  out  a  handful  of  meal  and  put  in  the  same  quan- 
tity of  flour. 

Wafers. — One  pound  of  flour,  quarter  of  a  pound  of  butter,  two 
eggs,  one  glass  of  wine,  one  nutmeg. 

Hard  Marmalade. — Scald  your  quinces,  pare  them,  take  out 
the  core,  strain  through  a  seive,  have  as  much  sugar  as  quinces. 
Boil  slowly,  stirring  it  continually  until  done. 

Easpberry  Jam. — One  pound  of  raspberries,  three-quarters  of  a 
pound  of  sugar.  Throw  the  sugar  on  to  the  fruit  the  first  day,  the 
second  boil  it  one  hour.  Put  in  a  tea-cup  full  of  currant  juice  to 
each  pound. 


The  vine,  with  its  fruit,  corresponds  to  spiritual  truth,  and  the  ex- 
actness of  the  correspondence  is,  in  many  instances,  clearly  and 
beautifully  unfolded.  The  tree  spreads  with  great  quickness,  but  it 
requires  much  sun  to  ripen  its  fruit,  which,  in  a  cold  climate,  will 
not  come  to  perfection.  So  divine  truth,  where  there  are  cold  affec- 
tions, cannot  arrive  at  maturity,  but  will  remain  in  a  raw,  cold  and 
sour  state.  When  the  grapes  are  ripe  and  the  juice  expressed,  it  has 
its  fermentation  to  undergo  before  it  is  fit  for  use,  so  spiritual  truth 
must  undergo  its  fermentation  and  get  rid  of  heterogeneous  properties 
and  adhering  falsehoods  before  it  can  come  into  use.  As  the  vine  is 
continually  putting  forth  new  bearing  wood,  so  is  divine  truth,  if  we 
are  careful  of  its  culture. 


$tu    (fihil&ttu'fi    §<txntx. 


DON'T     BE     VAIN. 


BY    MRS.    M.    D.    STRONG. 


Away  up  under  the  hills,  two  or  three  miles  beyond  Oakland,  lives 
little  Mary.  Mary  is  a  very  happy  little  girl,  and  well  she  may  be 
with  such  a  pleasant  place  to  live  in.  In  the  ravine  close  by  her 
papa's  house  is  just  the  nicest  little  brook  in  California,  and  there  is 
water  running  there  through  all  the  long  dry  summer.  On  each  side 
of  the  ravine  are  bay  trees  and  willows  and  oak  trees,  and  they  are 
full  of  birds  the  whole  year.  In  tiie  winter  and  spring,  when  the 
brook  is  running  full,  Mary  plays  beside  it  on  fine  days  and  sails  bits 
of  wood  which  she  calls  her  ships.  She  loads  them  with  gravel 
stones  and  wild  flowers,  and  sometimes  she  takes  a  willow  switch 
and  beats  the  water  and  makes  believe  there  is  a  great  storm.  Then 
the  waves  run  very  high,  and  some  of  the  ships  are  wrecked. 

Mary  thinks  it  is  nice  to  live  where  there  are  birds  and  flowers 
and  green  trees  all  the  time,  and  where  children  can  play  out  doors 
all  winter.  Her  little  cousins  at  the  East  sometimes  write  to  her 
about  coasting  and  skating  and  sleigh  riding,  and  tell  her  it  is  great 
sport ;  but  she  says  that  as  they  must  get  through  with  their  long, 
cold  winter  in  some  way,  it  is  very  well  for  them  to  make  the  best 
of  it,  but  she  is  sure  if  they  were  only  here  they  would  be  quite  wil- 
ling never  to  see  a  sled  or  sleigh  or  pair  of  skates  again. 

But  the  noisy  brook  is  not  Mary's  only  plaything.  Her  papa  has 
a  great  many  hens  and  chickens  and  turkeys  and  ducks,  and  a  house 
made  on  purpose  for  them  to  sleep  in  at  night.  When  the  sun  goes 
down  they  all  come  into  their  house,  and  Mary  shuts  the  door,  and  in 
the  morning  she  opens  it  and  lets  them  out.  It  is  her  work  to  feed 
them,  and  she  knows  all  the  little  chickens  and  turkeys  and  duck- 
lings and  which  mama  they  belong  to,  and  they  all  run  after  her 
when  they  see  her.  Last  spring  Mary's  papa  gave  her  a  nice  plump 
hen  turkey  for  her  own,  and  when  this  turkey  came  off  her  nest  with 
a  brood  of  twelve  young  ones,  Mary  was  a  rich  little  girl. 

Among  the  flock  there  was  one  old  gobbler  who  took  a  great 
fancy  to  this  hen-turkey  and  her  little  brood,  and  always  went  with 


566  THE    HESPERIAN. 

her  wherever  she  wandered  and  helped  her  take  care  of  them  and 
f  nd  nice  bits  for  them.  He  was  a  handsome  fellow  with  a  large  tail 
of  bright  feathers  and  a  very  red  neck  and  comb,  and  Mary  named 
him  Tom.  Gobbler  Tom  was  a  terribly  vain,  conceited  fellow,  al- 
ways spreading  his  tail  and  strutting  and  gobbling.  He  was  espe- 
cially proud  of  his  tail,  and  in  his  heart  he  had  no  doubt  it  was  quite 
as  splendid  as  a  peacock's.  He  used  to  go  down  into  the  ravine  with 
Mary's  hen-turkey,  talking  to  her  all  the  way  and  showing  her  where 
the  grasshoppers  and  bugs  and  worms  were  to  be  found,  and  running 
fiercely  at  the  gray  pussy  or  Mary's  dog  if  they  ventured  to  come 
near  the  little  brood,  and  at  every  few  steps  he  would  stop,  turn 
around,  spread  his  tail  and  strut,  while  the  mother  turkey  looked  on 
admiringly,  and  the  little  turkeys  wondered  if  they  should  ever  grow 
to  be  so  brave  and  fine.  So  Mrs.  Hen  Turkey  always  felt  very  safe 
and  very  happy  when  Gobbler  Tom  was  with  her. 

Now  it  happened  that  among  the  rocks  a  long  way  up  the  canon, 
there  lived  a  coyote ;  and  sometimes,  when  he  was  very  hungry,  lie 
came  as  far  down  as  the  ravine  where  Mary  lived  in  search  of  some- 
thing to  eat.  He  was  a  sly  old  fellow  and  contrived  to  creep  along 
under  the  bushes  so  as  not  to  be  seen,  for  he  well  knew  that  he  was 
risking  his  neck  every  time  he  came  near  a  house  or  a  barn,  and 
whenever  he  saw  a  man  or  anything  that  looked  like  a  gun  he  was 
nearly  frightened  out  of  his  wits. 

Several  times  he  had  seen  Mary's  hen  turkey  and  her  brood,  and 
his  mouth  always  watered,  for  she  wTas  very  plump,  and  he  knew  she 
would  make  a  delicious  dinner.  But  Gobbler  Tom  was  always  with 
her,  and  Mr.  Coyote  was  such  a  sneaking,  cowardly  fellow  he  did  not 
dare  to  jump  for  her  for  fear  Tom  might  make  such  a  screaming  and 
such  a  tumult  as  to  bring  some  one  to  the  ravine  before  he  could  get 
away  with  his  prize,  in  which  case  he  knew  he  might  not  only  lose 
his  dinner,  but  get  a  bullet  through  his  wicked  head  into  the  bargain. 
So  he  began  to  wonder  whether  he  could  not  contrive  to  get  Tom 
out  of  the  way  long  enough  for  him  to  pounce  upon  the  mother  tur- 
key. And  one  morning,  while  he  lay  under  the  bushes  watching 
them,  he  noticed  how  much  Tom  strutted  and  how  proud  he  seemed 
of  his  tail,  and  a  bright  thought  came  into  his  head.  So  he  poked 
out  his  nose,  and  looking  as  innocent  as  possible  he  bade  them  good 
morning.  At  first  they  were  all  frightened,  and  Tom  bristled  up  his 
feathers  and  looked  very  angry  as  if  he  would  have  run  at  him. 


Doiit  be  Vain.  567 

But  the  cunning  coyote  said  politely,  "  Pray  do  not  be  disturbed, 
sir.  I  was  taking  a  walk  this  morning,  and  I  just  stopped  a  moment 
to  look  at  your  magnificent  tail.  Would  you  do  me  the  favor  to 
spread  it  again,  so  that  I  may  have  a  good  view  of  it  ?" 

So  the  foolish  gobbler  was  very  much  pleased,  and  he  spread  out 
his  tail  as  wide  as  he  could,  and  he  took  a  long  strut  up  the  bank  of 
the  ravine.  No  sooner  was  his  back  fairly  turned,  than  the  coyote, 
with  one  jump,  seized  poor  Mrs.  Hen  Turkey  by  the  neck,  and  throwing 
her  over  his  back,  made  off  as  fast  as  his  long  grey  legs  could  carry  him. 

When  Tom  heard  the  struggling  and  the  squalling,  he  turned 
around  just  in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  coyote  as  he  disappear- 
ed among  the  bushes.  Poor  Gobbler  Tom  !  all  the  vanity  and  con- 
ceit was  quite  taken  out  of  him,  and  he  dropped  his  tail  very  low  and 
felt  as  if  he  should  never  spread  it  again  as  long  as  he  lived.  He  was 
so  astonished  that  he  couldn't  even  gobble,  and  he  followed  the  brood 
of  crying  turkeys  out  of  the  ravine,  looking  as  sorry  and  ashamed  as 
a  gobbler  could. 

When  Mary  heard  the  uproar  in  the  ravine,  she  came  running  to 
the  bank  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  as  her  turkey  was  not  to 
be  found  she  called  her  mother  to  come  and  look.  They  found  the 
feathers  scattered  all  along  beside  the  brook,  and  Mary's  mother  said, 
"  Something  has  carried  off  your  turkey." 

Mary  looked  at  the  little  motherless  brood  who  were  making  such 
a  pitiful  noise  and  at  Gobbler  Tom  who  stood  there  with  great  tears 
in  his  eyes,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  his  mother's  dress  and  cried  too. 


The  Palmyra,  as  seen  on  the  first  page  of  this  number,  is  one  of  the 
latest  styles  for  cloaks,  and,  with  the  Dumonia,  is  for  full  toilet.  To  be 
made  of  rich  velvet,  nearly  as  long  as  the  dress.  Paletots  for  simple  toilet 
are  endless  in  variety.  The  round  cloaks,  of  cloth  or  woolen  velvet,  with 
black  fringe  and  buttons,  are  still  worn  by  young  misses. .  .  .  Bonnets  vary 
but  little  in  shape  from  last  month ;  are  generally  made  somewhat  lower  in 
front  than  heretofore.  Velvet  is  the  rage,  with  fringes  of  feathers.  .  .  . 
Dresses. — Irish  poplins  are  much  iu  vogue.  For  rich  dresses,  moire-an- 
tiques of  very  new  and  brilliant  tints.  .  .  .  Waists. — Still  pointed,  both  in 
front  and  back. 

Description  of  the  Full-size  Pattern. — New  style  of  dress  for  a 
girl  from  five  to  seven  years  of  age.  Material,  silk  or  merino.  Trimming, 
ruches  of  ribbon;  or,  if  preferred,  can  be  braided.  Brittles-pointed  belt  and 
pocket.  A  Garibaldi  waist,  of  white  material,  made  high  in  the  neck  and 
ruched,  to  be  worn  with  the  dress,  is  in  good  taste. 


#dit<»*'s5  ®abU. 


We  have  received  from  one  of  our  distinguished  citizens  the  following  amus- 
ing account  of  his  return  to  California  from  a  visit  to  friends  in  the  East.  It 
is  so  similar  to  what  nearly  all  Californians  have  passed  through  in  reaching 
this  goodly  land  of  wide  ideas  and  liberality,  that  our  readers  may,  perhaps, 
think  it  an  account  of  their  own  journey  hither.  Now  after  the  lapse  of  years 
we  have  a  very  vivid  recollection,  especially  in  our  dreams,  of  our  own  ex- 
perience on  board  of  what  was  afterward  the  unfortunate  Central  America. 
The  want  of  accommodations,  the  filthy  rooms,  dirtier  linen,  and  food  that 
appeared  to  be  bewitched,  still  haunt  our  memory,  and  will,  we  presume, 
through  life.  On  this  side  of  the  continent  the  passengers  fare  sumptuously, 
but  on  the  other  side  no  language  is  strong  enough  to  convey  an  adequate 
impression  of  what  they  suffer. 

NARK  ATI  VE. 

The  Ichneumons  are  an  extraordinary  family.  They  feed  on  other  ani- 
mals, and  devour  their  inward  parts  from  day  to  day,  carefully  avoiding  the 
vital  organs,  by  which  means  the  life  of  the  victim  is  prolonged  for  the  ben- 
efit of  the  robber,  until  there  is  nothing  left  but  the  form.  Ichneumons  there 
be  among  men. 

It  was  my  misfortune  to  take  passage  on  the  Northern  Light  from  New 
York  for  Aspinwall,  on  the  10th  of  May,  1861,  shortly  after  the  outbreak  of 
our  present  civil  war.  There  was  much  talk  of  pirates,  and  for  a  while  some 
apprehension.  It  was  soon  understood  that  in  case  of  attack  the  Captain 
would  run  directly  into  the  enemy  and  cut  him  through.  The  bow  of  our 
steamer  was  a  solid  mass  of  timber  for  twenty  feet,  and  could  run  down  any- 
thing afloat,  or  any  island  of  moderate  size.  Having  swallowed  this  inspir- 
ing draught,  the  passengers  grew  bold  and  almost  longed  for  an  encounter. 
But  long  before  they  reached  Aspinwall  their  attention  was  absorbed  by  do- 
mestic troubles.  There  were  pirates  on  board,  which,  in  connection  with  the 
general  conduct  of  the  ship,  awakened  a  storm  of  indignation  and  resentment. 

If  this  were  an  isolated  case,  no  mention  would  be  made  of  it.  Unfortun- 
ately, it  accords  with  the  general  rule.  The  system  pursued  in  conveying 
travelers  from  New  York  to  Aspinwall  might  be  called  the  art  of  extorting 
as  much  money  as  possible  without  committing  murder.  There  are  fifty 
thousand  individuals  now  in  California,  who  would  exclaim,  if  this  were  read 
to  them,  "  That  is  the  truth." 

The  romantic  encounter  of  the  Ariel  with  the  Alabama  has  been  talked 
over  by  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  California,  and  has  been  the  means 
of  bringing  afresh  to  view  the  extortion  and  inhumanity  practiced  on  travel- 


Editors  Table.  569 

ers  by  the  New  York  proprietor  of  the  line.  Having  heard  much  complaint 
on  this  head  from  passengers  recently  arrived,  I  am  induced  to  l^ok  up  my 
notes  of  the  passage  in  1861,  and  to  give  a  brief  sketch  of  that  voyage,  with 
some  hope,  though  a  faint  one,  that  public  exposure  and  remonstrance  will 
lead  to  the  correction  or  amelioration  of  the  evil. 

'  Quake  not,  reader,  with  the  apprehension  that  a  detailed  narrative  of  a 
sea  voyage  is  impending.  It  is  not  the  special  but  the  general  at  which  I 
aim  : — the  experience  of  the  fifty  thousand  Californians  just  referred  to,  and 
I  fear  of  other  fifty  thousand  souls  yet  to  take  passage  at  New  York,  under 
the  auspices  of  Cornelius,  surnamed  Vanderbilt. 

Our  ship  was  crowded.  Every  state-room  and  every  berth,  and  every 
nook  in  the  steerage,  were  filled.  The  ocean  was  rough,  and  sea-sickness 
soon  prevailed,  and  with  it  the  selfish  principle  which  always  flourishes  on 
salt  water.  The  sphere  of  life  at  sea  is  circumscribed  within  very  narrow 
limits.  You  can't  strut  without  infringing.  It  is  the  first  law  of  nature 
everywhere  to  take  care  of  yourself,  and  the  first  condition  of  this  law  on  a 
Vanderbilt  steamer  is  that  you  must  do  it  at  the  expense  of  others.  You 
soon  discover  that  there  is  not  enough  to  eat — for  all.  Whether  this  is  lit- 
erally true  or  not,  it  seems  to  be  true.  It  impresses  itself  on  your  mind  as  a 
part  of  the  general  plan.  There  is  not  enough  of  anything — seats,  bedding, 
spoons,  glasses,  towels,  ice-water.  One  lucky  fellow  gets  possession  of  a 
three-legged  stool  and  lugs  it  about  with  him  all  day,  watching  it  as  careful- 
ly as  he  would  a  new  wife,  while  a  score  of  expectants  have  nothing  to  do 
but  keep  their  eye  on  it  till  he  shall  relax  his  grasp  for  a  moment. 

The  voyage  from  New  York  to  Aspinwall  should  be  undertaken  not  with- 
out studied  preparation,  and  all  arrangements  should  be  made  on  the  basis  of 
a  six  months'  penance  ;  for  you  will  bear  in  mind  that  the  eight  or  nine  days 
of  the  passage  will  be  the  longest  days  of  your  life.  Such  preparations  I  did 
not  make.  It  was  not  in  my  power  to  take  passage  till  every  berth  in  the 
first  cabin,  save  one,  had  been  hired,  and  that  one  I  selected  with  christian 
resignation.  My  resignation  lasted  twenty-four  hours,  more  or  less,  and  has 
never  been  perfectly  restored. 

The  first  night  out  I  shivered  for  want  of  a  blanket,  but  the  servant,  or 
waiter,  that  is  to  say  the  steward,  who  had  charge  of  my  section,  was  not  to 
be  found.  Next  day  I  pursued  the  matter  with  Napoleonic  resolution,  and 
after  a  desperate  search  a  blanket  was  discovered  and  put  in  my  hands.  But 
when  I  came  to  spread  it  at  night,  a  central  deficiency  was  developed,  near- 
ly as  large  as  the  blanket  itself.  It  was  such  a  blanket  as  would  be  kicked 
out  the  back  door — or  front  door,  which  is  all  the  same — of  any  miner's  cab- 
in in  California.  Such  a  blanket  as  a  Digger  Indian  would  pick  up  with  a 
stick,  and  after  inspection  would  drop,  with  Ugh  !  for  comment. 

To  my  state-room  containing  a  population  of  three  persons,  one  drinking 
glass  was  allotted  ;  and  that  glass  was  taken  out  regularly  every  day  for  the 


570  THE    HESPEEIAN. 

dinner  table !  It  would  be  more  correct  to  say  tbere  was  not  a  single  glass 
allotted  to  the  room,  as  it  was  never  returned  by  the  servant.  As  for  towels, 
there  was  some  extravagance,  each  of  us  being  supplied  with  a  separate  tow- 
el. But  in  the  voyage  of  nine  days  the  towels  were  changed  but  once.  At 
dinner,  the  supply  of  spoons  was  deficient,  and  the  same  spoon  frequently 
performed  a  variety  of  functions.  To  stir  the  tea  in  one's  cup  with  a  table- 
spoon was  a  common  necessity. 

There  were  no  servants  or  waiters  on  the  ship.  Wo  to  the  pilgrim  who 
failed  to  recognize  the  official  dignity  of  the  subordinates  by  giving  them  the 
name  of  Steward  !  At  this  distance  it  is  amusing  to  contemplate  the  defer- 
ence and  politeness  of  the  half-dead  petitioners  for  menial  service,  who 
breathed  out  Steward  !  in  most  amiable  tones,  while  the  epithet  Thief !  was 
choking  their  throats.  I  will  venture  the  assertion  that  nineteen-twentieths 
of  the  travellers  to  and  from  California  in  the  last  ten  years,  will  pronounce 
the  "  Stewards"  on  these  Vanderbilt  steamers  the  most  insolent  animals  in 
the  form  of  human  beings  they  have  ever  encountered. 

We  had  left  New  York  at  a  critical  moment.  Seventy-five  thousand  men 
were  rushing  to  arms  in  the  loyal  States  to  defend  our  national  flag.  Balti- 
more was  a  battle  ground  and  Washington  was  menaced.  No  man  could  live 
an  hour  after  rising  without  a  look  at  the  morning  paper.  On  the  second  day 
out,  all  hands  were  anxious  on  the  great  subject  of  a  nation's  peril,  and  all 
felt  painfully  the  suspension  of  intercourse  with  home.  But  on  the  third 
morning  the  passengers  were  shut  up  in  the  ship,  and  on  the  fourth  in  them- 
selves— that  is  to  say,  unless  their  stomachs  forbade,  and  in  this  case  they 
did  not  care  even  for  themselves. 

At  first  there  appeared  an  extraordinary  development  of  literary  talent. 
Pencils  were  nimbly  operating  in  all  directions,  and  you  would  have  supposed 
a  High  School  was  emigrating,  or  that  all  the  reporters  for  the  North  Amer- 
ican press  were  on  ship-board.  But  genius  soon  became  sea-sick  and  retired 
into  private  misery.  Wheaeupon  the  following  sublime  effusion  was  circu- 
lated, purporting  to  have  been  picked  up  on  the  ship's  deck. 

SEA-SICKNESS— A    POEM. 

New  York,  May  10,  1861. 
To-morrow  I  embark  for  California.  The  grand  epoch  of  my  life  has  ar- 
rived. From  the  days  of  my  girlhood  I  have  longed  to  dwell  on  the  deep 
blue  ocean — to  ride  on  the  rolling  main.  My  hour  is  now  at  hand,  and  I 
shall  set  out  for  the  land  of  flowers  and  of  gold  on  ecstatic  pinions.  My  daily 
experiences  and  lucubrations  are  to  be  dressed  up  in  poetry,  and  I  have  made 
arrangements  with  the  Appletons  to  publish  the  poem  in  two  vols.,  octavo, 
as  soon  as  I  shall  transmit  the  MS.  from  California. 

Canto  I. — The  Embarkation. 
May  ]  1.     From  Pier  No*  3,  the  "  Northern  Light" 


Editor's   Table.  571 

At  twelve  o'clock  hath  taken  her  flight, 
And  carried  a  piece  of  the  wharf  away, 
Dipping  a  score  of  hoys  in  the  hay. 

Canto  II. — A  Great  Ship. 

Ho  !  the  "  Great  Eastern"  looms  into  view, 
A  long,  dark  line  in  the  horizon  blue. 
Hail  and  hurra !   we  bid  her  good  bye, 
Now  let  the  billows  roll  mountain  high. 

Canto  III. — A  Survey  of  the  Population. 

Crowded  and  crammed  and  jammed  together, 
Whoever  saw  such  a  batch  of  humanity  ! 

What  shall  we  do  in  the  tropical  weather  % 

The  thought  would  have  driven  old  Job  to  insanity. 

French  and  English,  Irish  and  Dutch, 

Yankees  and  Pikes,  oh  what  a  hotch-potch  ! 

Canto  IV. — Symptoms  of  Suffering. 
May  12.     Sad  commotion  doth  old  ocean 
In  one's  larder  bring  about. 
Who  can  tell  why  Neptune's  swell 

Should  turn  your  stomach  inside  out ! 
I'd  like  to  know  what  there  is  poetic 
About  a  confounded  salt  water  emetic ! 

Canto  V. — In  Extremis. 
May  13.     See,  saw  !     Oh,  law  ! 

Boo,  baw  !     This  is  aw- 
ful. [Finis. 

A  number  of  passengers  appeared  to  be  seriously  ill,  and  the  ship's  Doc- 
tor was  called  for.  The  fact  was  then  developed  that  the  same  individual 
combined  in  his  person  the  three  offices  of  Clerk,  Purser  and  Doctor  !  This 
was  understood  to  be  the  permanent  arrangement  on  the  vessels  of  this  line. 
The  law  requires  a  physician  to  be  provided,  and  the  law  is  thus  complied 
with,  or  rather  evaded ;  for  no  qualified  medical  man  would  so  debase  him- 
self as  to  accept  such  a  position.  As  might  be  expected,  the  sick  passengers 
did  not  apply  to  him.  Fortunately  there  were  several  physicians  among  the 
passengers,  and  their  services  were  procured.  Some  malevolent  fellows  in- 
sisted that  the  one  individual,  besides  officiating  as  Clerk,  Purser  and  Doc- 
tor, served  also- as  night-watchman,  and  that  the  Barber  was  nothing  more 
than  the  same  person  in  disguise. 

Sooner  or  later  the  discovery  was  to  be  made  that  the   only  effectual 


572  THE    HESPERIAN. 

method  of  escaping  starvation  was  to  bribe  the  waiters.  These  prowling 
knaves  managed  to  overlook  at  the  table  every  one  who  overlooked  them. 
Some  of  them  confessed  that  they  were  dependent  for  the  principal  part  of 
their  wages  on  what  they  extorted  from  passengers.  From  the  proprietors, 
or  rather  the  proprietor,  they  get  a  salary  of  only  ten  or  twelve  dollars  per 
month,  which  is  worked  up  to  fifty  dollars  at  least,  from  the  outside  sources 
referred  to.  The  feeling  against  them  for  their  insolence  and  extortion  was 
unanimous.  Not  a  voice  or  a  whisper  was  heard  in  their  defense.  As  we 
approached  Aspinwall,  when  our  experience  was  full,  a  song  was  circulated 
through  the  cabins,  which,  though  somewhat  coarse  and  extravagant,  met 
with  universal  approval.     Here  it  is  : 

SONG    OF    THE    STEWARDS    OF    THE    NORTHERN    LIGHT. 
Hark,  all  ye  starving  travellers,  a  secret  we'll  unfold, — 
There's  an  itching  of  the  palm  to  be  cured  alone  with  gold. 
If  you  would  save  your  carcass  from  famine  and  from  death, 
You  must  give  up  your  cash  to  us,  or  else  give  up  your  breath. 

Chorus. — We  shave,  and  skin,  and  steal,  with  tooth  and  nail  and  claw, 
Hyenas,  wolves  and  sharks,  V and  T . 

There  are  sharks  upon  the  ocean,  there's  a  great  shark  on  the  land, 
And  from  greatest  down  to  smallest  they're  a  greedy,  thieving  band. 
One  thing  alone  will  save  you  from  the  monster's  hungry  jaws — 
You'll  die  if  you  don't  tickle  the  steward's  itching  paws. 
We  shave,  and  skin,  and  steal,  &c. 

If  you  want  a  cup  to  drink  from  or  a  blanket  for  your  bed, 
If  you  want  a  decent  towel,  or  a  pillow  for  your  head, 
You  need  not  beg  nor  bluster,  you  must  not  swear  nor  scold, 
But  tickle,  tickle,  tickle  the  steward's  paws  with  gold. 
We  shave,  and  skin,  and  steal,  &-c. 

If  the  demon  of  the  ocean  has  convulsed  with  mortal  throes 
Your  inner  man,  and  spent  you  till  you  cannot  blow  your  nose, 
And  your  soul  is  slowly  creeping  athrough  your  flaccid  jaws, 
You'll  die  if  you  don't  tickle  the  steward's  itching  paws. 
We  shave,  and  skin,  and  steal,  &c. 

If  a  little  draught  of  water,  or  a  little  lump  of  ice, 
To  condense  your  melting  solids  and  save  you  would  suffice, 
You  need  not  beg  or  bluster,  you  must  not  swear  nor  scold, 
But  tickle,  tickle,  tickle  the  steward's  paws  with  gold. 

We  shave,  and  skin,  and  steal,  with  tooth  and  nail  and  claw, 
Hyenas,  wolves,  and  sharks,  V and  T . 


Editors  Table.  573 

But  it  is  likely  I  Lave  served  up  as  much  material  as  the  readers  of  the 
Hesperian  will  fancy  at  one  mess,  and  I  will  therefore  reserve  the  balance 
for  another  meal.  Two  points,  however,  I  must  state  before  closing.  First 
— the  worst  is  yet  to  come.  Second — the  old  Californians  allay  our  appre- 
hensions of  utter  extermination  on  the  Pacific,  by  assuring  us  that  the  ships 
on  that  end  of  the  route  are  under  very  different  management,  and  that  we 
are  likely  to  find  the  "  Golden  Age"  at  Panama,  under  the  charge  of  Capt. 
Watkins,  the  most  comfortable  and  the  best  conducted  ship  in  the  world. 
To  those  who  could  believe  this,  it  was  a  glimpse  of  heaven  through  purga- 
tory. But  the  green  ones  could  not  be  convinced  that  we  should  fare  better 
on  the  Pacific,  where  wages  and  provisions  were  at  double  or  treble  cost,  than 
on  the  Atlantic  where  they  were  so  much  cheaper.     We  shall  see. 

New  Books. — Messrs.  Roman  &  Co.,  No.  417  and  419,  Montgomery 
street,  have  laid  on  our  table  a  book  entitled  The  New  Gymnastics,  by  Dio 
Lewis,  M.  D.,  who  will  be  remembered  by  our  readers  as  the  author  of  sev- 
eral articles  on  the  same  subject  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly.  The  subject  is 
one  of  vital  importance,  especially  to  Americans  who  have  so  long  ignored 
physical  culture.  Dr.  Lewis  is  one  of  the  first  gymnasts  in  the  world,  thor- 
oughly understands  his  subject,  and  is,  moreover,  a  graceful  and  expressive 
writer.  Perhaps  his  book  savors  a  little  too  much  of  egotism,  but  then  the 
reader  will  readily  pardon  the  ostentatious  use  of  the  pronoun  "  I  "  in  admir- 
ation of  the  system  of  physical  training  which  the  Doctor  has  invented.  It 
is  based  on  natural  principles,  adapted  to  all  ages  and  constitutions,  and  we 
think  far  superior  to  any  other  we  have  ever  known.  All  who  have  in  charge 
the  care  and  training  of  the  young  should  read  this  book  and  adopt  its  rec- 
ommendations. We  earnestly  wish  it  might  be  introduced  for  study  and 
practice  into  all  our  schools,  colleges  and  families.  A  judicious  physical  ed- 
ucation, such  as  this  book  describes,  would  save  the  next  generation  of  Amer- 
icans from  an  immense  amount  of  bodily  degeneracy  and  suffering,  and  ena- 
ble us  as  a  nation  the  better  to  work  out  our  destiny. 

Les  Miserables,  by  Victor  Hugo,  has  also  been  received  from  Roman 
&  Co.  This  work  of  an  author  whose  fame  is  as  wide  as  the  world,  is  hav- 
ing a  great  run  in  the  Eastern  States.  We  have  not  yet  found  time  to  give 
it  a  careful  reading,  and  therefore  cannot  speak  positively  as  to  its  merits. 
We  shall  endeavor  to  notice  it  more  fully  in  another  number.  By  the  way, 
We  advise  all  our  readers,  who  wish  books  of  any  kind,  to  call  at  Roman  &. 
Co*'s,  as  they  have  the  largest  and  best  selected  stock  on  the  Pacific  coast, 

Thanks. — We  are  indebted  to  Hon.  A.  A.  Sargent,  Representative  in 
Congress  from  California,  for  a  copy  of  the  last  United  States  census. 

Oakland. — That  charming  suburb  of  San  Francisco  is  rapidly  increas- 
ing in  population.  The  railroad  to  connect  it  with  deep  water  is  going  brisk- 
ly on,  and  will  be  completed  by  spring.     Property  is  rising  in  value  very 


574  THE    HESPERIAN. 

fast.  Those  who  contemplate  a  home  there  should  invest  without  delay. 
On  inquiry  at  the  Hesperian  office  we  can -direct  any  of  our  readers  to  one 
of  the  finest  places  in  Oakland,  consisting  of  ten  acres  near  the  site  recently 
bought  for  the  Female  College,  having  on  it  three  acres  of  raspberries,  eight 
hundred  fruit  trees  in  full  bearing,  besides  a  variety  of  smaller  fruits.  Title 
perfect  and  terms  very  reasonable. 

Subscribers. — We  trust  that  those  of  our  subscribers  to  whom  bills  have 
been  sent  will,  if  possible,  respond  without  delay.  The  great  rise  in  the  cost 
of  printing  material  renders  the  present  a  trying  time  for  publishers.  The 
paper  alone  now  costs  one-third  of  all  the  expense  of  publishing  the  Hespe- 
rian. Do  not  forget  that  we  need  our  money  promptly,  in  order  to  save  us 
from  following  the  example  of  our  cotemporaries  by  raising  the  price  of  sub- 
scription or  lessening  the  size  of  our  Magazine. 

Wanted  at  this  office  a  lady  to  canvass  for  the  Hesperian  in  this  city; 
also  a  gentleman  or  a  lady  to  canvass  in  the  country. 

The  Pulu  Pickers,  will  be  the  subject  of  an  article  in  our  next,  giving 
an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  the  material  for  those  delicious  beds  made 
by  Messrs.  J.  &.  C.  Schreiber  is  obtained  in  the  Hawaiian  Islands. 

Contributors: — We  introduce  to  our  readers,  this  month,  three  new 
contributors — T.  H.  H.,  Pip  Pepperpod,  and  Dr.  Henry  Gibbons.  The 
phenomenon  of  California  springs  will  be  new  to  m.jst  of  the  world,  and  the 
Dr.'s  article  in  relation  to  them  will  be  read  with  interest.  The  poem  of 
Pip  Pepperpod,  though  written  by  "  a  boy  as  yet,"  has  the  ring  of  genuine 
poetry ;  and,  with  persevering  self-culture,  we  predict  that  its  author  will 
yet  make  his  quill-droppings 

"  To  glow  like  luminous  pearls  from  out  the  sea 
Of  worthless  wordings  cast  from  lesser  minds." 

We  would  like  more  articles  on  the  arts,  literature,  science  and  life  of  the 
Pacific  coast,  for  to  these  we  design  the  Hesperian  to  be  mainly  devoted. 


NOTICES     OF    THE    PRESS. 


The  Hesperian. — This  excellent  monthly  for  January  has  come  to  hand. 
There  is  no  publication  we  receive  which  we  prize  so  much  as  the  Hesperian 
for  its  high  moral  tone  and  literary  excellence.  We  would  recommend  it  to 
every  family  in  the  State. — Semi-  Weekly  Independent. 

The  Hesperian. — This  favorite  California  ladies'  monthly  magazine  has 
reached  us.  As  our  readers,  are  aware,  it  is  under  the  control  of  the  talented 
Mrs.  Schenck,  associated  with  the  Rev.  J.  D.  Strong,  a  gentleman  well 
known  in  literary  circles  as  a  man  of  fine  taste,  literary  ability  and  persever- 
ing industry.  Under  such  management,  it  does  not  surprise  us  to  mark  the 
decided  improvement  which  is  so  evident  in  its  pages.  Office,  34  Govern- 
ment House,  San  Francisco.     Three  dollars  a  year. —  Tuolumne  Courier. 

The  Hesperian  is  a  wide-awake,  up-to-the-times  monthly,  published  in 
(and  a  credit  to)  the  Golden  State.     It  is  intended  more  especially  for  ladies' . 
reading.     If  it  is  not  handsomely  patronized  at  home,  it  will  be  a  shame. — 
Lyons  (N.  Y.J  Republican. 


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