l

 

. ending

THEHOME:

3 alumna for tlgt suite, the matter, the Siam, ant the Qaughm.

VOL. III.—MARCH, 1857.—N0. III.

 

MRS. ELIZABETH FRY.

t randrin the year 1730. Her a-
, Mr. Gurney of Norwich, was a

E IIZABETH FRY was born in Eng-
1he

Zociltlons
"3 that. sect. The family was one
gr?“ vHutlth and respectability, and
[an V99 England several eminent phi-
trl'OPIBts.
and lzabeth Was substantially educated.
e earned such accomplishments as
llecullar sentiments of her father
nah". olned- She seems to have been
that :11]? Serious and thou htful,-so
pm 9 8mm of her training 1m-
” “Shunt ‘on her disposition.
VOL. 111. 7.

Quaker, so that the early as-_
of his daughter were entirely"

 

Had she been permitted to mingle in
the gayeties usual to her age, she would
have declined them from inclination.
Parties of pleasure had less attraction
for her than than her school of eighty
poor children, which, while still a girl
in her teens, she gathered in her fa-
ther‘s house, and to which she devoted
many hours every da .

Yet Elizabeth was by no means a
recluse. A heart so full of pity for
the poor, was warmed also by the us-
derest domestic attachments, and the
best social impulses. Her person was
very attractive, her face . was fair 
regular, with a pleasing expression.

 

 

 

102

her voice soft and musical, and her
whole appearance expressed sweetness
and dignity.

At the age of twent Miss Gurney
married Mr.Fry, a gent eman of liberal
heart, who warmly sympathized in the
philanthropic labors of his wife.

As mother and mistress of a family,
Mrs. Fry was most exemplary,although
a leading promoter of those charities
for which Quakers have always been
distinguished, and often devoting a
large portion of her time to personal
labors, she still found leisure to fulfill
all her household duties, and to instill
into the hearts of her children those
principles of which she was herself so
bright an ornament. . ‘

Mrs. Fry’s first introduction to prison
labors was accidental. Visiting New-
gate, without any special purpose, she
was deeply affected by the miserable
condition of the women confined there.
She was never seen to weep idly over
sufi‘ering without an effort for its relief.
Nor was she one to form grand parlor
schemes of charity, while she‘left all
the irksome details to others. She
went herself day after day to that
loathsome abode of vice and misery,
gathered mean groups of degraded
women about her, and spoke such
words of peace and love as had never
fallen on their ears before. These for-
lorn and ragged outcasts, whom even
humanity seemed to have cast off, lis-
tened and wondered. They began to
feel that there might be a future of
hope even for them, and to look u on
their benevolent visitor as an ange of
consolation. From this simple begin-
anS sprang an extended scheme for

men shore, in which, when the work
ame toogreat for her, many noble
women entered. ‘

For the last half century the name
of Mrs. Fry has been identified with
most of the great movements for al-
leviating the condition of the p00!”
and forsaken- She has traveled over
all Europe, inspecting, not museums
and picture galleries, but hospital. and
prisons, gathering up, not curiosities of
art, but records of woe. She has in-

 

 

IRS. ELIZABETH FRY.

#4

formed herself by personal inspection
of the condition of her own sect in
England, making for many years an
annual visit to the churches, when she
would gather around her the female
part of the congregations, inquire into
their spiritual history, experience, and
progress, and seek to inspire them
with something of her own heavenly
spirit.

It is -not easy to over-estimate the
character of this excellent lady. Reared
in affluence, endowed with refined
tastes, and warm, soda], and. domestic
affections, she cheerfully relinquished
their enjoyments that she might bring
divine consolation to the most misera-
ble of her sex.

Mrs. Fry died in 1845. Her death
called forth many warm expressions 0
veneration and respect, and was deeply
regretted throughout the continent she
had blessed with her labors, but it i5
perhaps her highest testimonial that
the poor wept at her grave.

REMEMBER THE POOR.

BY X. 5. L.

T: Inqu housed and warmly clad,
0h! turn not from the poor; ,
Whole homes are bare, whose hearts are sldv
Who linger near your door.

Children of want, but not of shame,
0h, spurn them not away,

Till you have learned from whence they came!
And why they’re cold to-day.

Oh! say not there’s enough and more ?
Each laborer’s toil to bless, ' .

And if they toiled and saved their store,
Their wants would now be less.

May be if you the truth could know,
That’s boarded in their breast,

"1‘ would prove they labored more than 
Though not like you they ’re blest.

Perchance, let them the tale but tell,
Another ’6 sin would show,

Why they in poverty must dwell —
Why drain the cup of woe.

Thou hast but what thou did’st receive
From Kim whose all things are; a.
He gave that thou might’st want reliefl“ ,
He marks each steward’s care. " ,.

Sraxxeszoox, N. Y., Jana, 1857. 

 

 

 

 

‘ “Wine

 

arm; OR, CHILD-SORROWS.

\—

EFFIE; OR, CIIILD—SORROWS.
BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.

N0 ebon eye, or raven hair, set off
the our Effie; an elder sister sported
'9, find called her tow-head. Al-
mf’st invariably, when presented as
Mrs sister, was she doomed to hear
“me allusion to their contrasted looks.
f“ shorty every thing tended to make her
9.“ that the Fates had chosen her to
Eltomf'yygliness. Even her mother,
ough kind in her way, had too much
:E‘Plllous conscientiousness to say
30 ’e ,by Way of solace than “Hand-
m‘?‘: 18 What handsome does, so you
mi sh try and behave." But as well
 t Our-heroine have acquired the
an. tr0 metamorphose her physical
new”, as to “ behave” according
injusl‘ .mOthIer’s understanding of the
an .ction, if indeed she herself had
yoldea of its real meaning.
“rent: thing was_ certain, Effie was
“1‘ bbe at fault if she “behaved” at
“am er form was gross, her gait
while :31, andOher tones disagreeable;
M: 'ltty, With witching vorce, could
M v 0? read, or sing, all conscious of
dwapowez to please, Effie could sel-
086 JP“ audibly but her manner

5’“ She could not be silent, when,
doubtless. the place of speaker better
' 8:19 lief seniors.

Writened se ulchre was this
“mew, flaxen~h£ired child. En-
; ‘0 , m .311 unpolished exterior, was
the ‘“ dimension too cumbrous for
Do what she would, its

would .ooze out in words,
y and unbecoming in the judg-
Of the family. Young as she
n 8" mlnd would think, and her
"lb ° betray that thought, and this

W her to most painful trial.
,,h°,f8ncy “children do not
in be; “View. with us some incidents
u u. hgarly histor , and then be can-

wjou (ice with such as she.

“ llWily and ardent tempera-
. under proper discipline
fir “Ye retumed any amount of
” “le affection, but a pre-

In.“

, fault she

“ ed the fastidious ears about her, .

 

103

dominant principle with her was exact-
ness; she had boarded the oft-re-
peated adage, “Give every one his
honest due;” and in her child-mind
she deemed it just as improper to
manifest more regard than the amount
to which she seemed debtor, as to have
withheld from others a portion of
what was really their due. Of a pre—
cocious temperament, she could recall
the impressions of her mother pale
with atfright, lest some fatal harm had
befallen her, ere her practiced tongue
had learned to lisp the fond mamma;
but, if there ever was a period when
the tiny arm encircled that mother‘s
neck, or the head reposed confiding
u on her bosom, it had faded from-rec-
ollection. Kitty, too, in all the as-
sumed dignity of an elder sister, giving
lessons of wisdom, and sometimes con-
descending to bribe to what shethought
proper, was ever present to her imagi-
nation; but never an affectionate ca-
ress from sister’s lip; had warmed her
homely cheek.

To have said “ you lie,” to a play-
mate, would have shocked her own
Sense of propriety, but imitative to 9.

ad caught at the more re-
fined term falsehood, without fully
comprehending its signification, and,
ere long, playfully said, “Why, ma,
you tell a falsehood;" and how was her
spirit crushed when met with the re-
ply, “ Is it ssible I have lived to hear
a child tel me I lie? Oh! it will
break my heart! I. can never teach
you as my child again till you ask my
forgiveness,” groans and tears accom-
panying the outbreak of grief. Had
she said, “Come to your mother, my
daughter, and let her tell you what
falsehood means, and then be sorry
that you have said what fairl under.
stood would be a great offense. How
would she have rushed to those mater-
nal arms, rejoicing thus to make repar-
ation, and what mutual (onfldence
w0uld have been inspired by the trail!-
action. But, held at such a distance.
as seemed to say “ You are a tainted
thing,” how could she unaided, reward
the barrier that another‘had

 

  

104
Had she but. asked “Are you sorry i ”
most gladly would she have said,
“Yes, ma,” with all her heart, though
incapable of understanding the ground
of her offense; but the impassable
gulf she could not remove, and at this
chilling distance her lips refused to
utter what her heart felt. So she re-
tired to her chamber, and in the agony
of her grief, wished she might die!

Eflie didn’t die, gentle reader; she
could not die of mere heart-ache any
more than we older ones, till she had
drained the portion that was meted
for her. »

“I wish you would n’t speak again,
Effie, when anybody is by]? said her
mother; “I was so ashamed I did not
know where to put my head to hear
you prompt your old grandfather when
he made a little mistake in his reck-
oning to-dayI I should think I had
told you often enough that little folks
should be seen and not heard ;” and
waxing warmer as she proceeded,
“now go to your room, and stay till
you learn to,behave; ” soliloquizing
while Eflie was within hearing, “that
child would get a great many more
favors than she does if she only looked
better.” '

“Oh, dear!” groaned Effie, as she
seated herself down, what shall I do?
not fit to be heard or seen either. My
mother says, ‘handsome they that
handsome do;’ how I wish she Would
teach me what to do. I am sure I
would do any thing to be handsome in
her eyes.”

Just. then she discovered her pet
kitten skipping about the room, and
smiling through a tear, said, “Come
here, kit; let’s see if we can’t make
ourselves agreeable. Come, sit on my
lap, and let me make a little verse for
you.” Shortly after, her sister coming
toward the door heard her repeating:

“We ’ve considered this matter, pussy and I,
That we each look alike from out a gray

eye '
We’ll teil sister Kitty, though she may keep

shy
That we,mean to be friends this pussy and I."

’u And so, Miss Effie, you are really

EFFIE ; OR, CHILD—SORROWS.

 

 

#4

making love to the cat, and rhymes
about it, are you 2 Ma would feel very
bad to know that you are trying so
hard to be older than your years.
this rate you may pass for a disap-
pointed maiden before you even get to
your teens.”
- Whether but for this sisterly satire, .
Effie might have become a child-poet,
another Lucretia M. Davidson,can nevel"
he known, for it was long years before‘
if she even thought another rhyme
that she durst lisp it. «
Reverses, such as are often met, in'
duced the parents of Effie to seek ‘
rural home during her early yearn,
where, as a matter of expediency, they
resolved to conform to the circumstafl'
ces and customs of their less refin
and intelligent neighbors. Accordr'
ingly, when a new bed-quilt was abolIt
to be added to their country store, E '
fie attired in her Sunday best, wi
foot alert and light of heart, sat 0
with verbal invitations to “the quilt-
ing.” The wonted caution, “Now,”
do n’t talk much, and mind what you"
say,” being owerless to blunt the
pleasure she f2” in contemplating “)9.
anticipated novel gathering, and lief}-
self the trustworthy agent,in the bus!
ness of delivering messages which W”
to bring about'such a result. ON"
and again she mentally repeated 110’
lesson, and varied not a word from 11“
prescribed form. (
But her errand done, she was m0",e
than once subjected to an ordeal
questioning, and cross-questioning, by
persons who did n’t see how
Greens come to make a quiltin ,8
invite their poor neighbors, an WOW,
Sered if they wouldn’t slight so!!!“
ody. , '.
No marvel if one of her simplicityf
and ingeniousness, her readiness 9,
thought and volubility of tongue, 5‘“
some things that she could not 83""
ward recall. She however was 0°”
scious of nothing amiss, and all pflu‘d‘
merrily till the ushering in of ti“ “A
her eventful day.  
“ I do n’t believe in going to quay,
just time enough to get my tea,” '

 

 

 

EFFIE ; OR, CHILD—SORROWS.

x

ll:Idiim Benevolence, adjusting her
5:38“, and threading her needle as
5 he; “and being you are stran-
8‘" ere,I thought I would come in
0 morning and stay all day, and
0W you what it is to do the real
generous thing. And I do n‘t know
I Ought to say any thing about it,
trough, but to tell the truth, there’s
.Oilble abroad. Becca Jones told my
E" 31881: night that she ’d stay at home
'1 mend her stockings —— very likely
to? need it —— before she would come
81? you, for you only invited her
“"88 she was going to keep our
m‘ol‘fl this summer, and you thought,
“my be, she would be offended, and
did“? your children. I told her I
i “‘13 believe a word of it, but she
I It Was certainly so, for Mrs. Med-
;fi ha ken great pains to come and
51‘ that Sally Norton heard Effie
Inch”, and that it was not at all likely
luch a Child would have thought of
a thing herself.” ‘
lung“ this announcement Eflie was
we, aonf‘d and interrogated over and
ing thgaln, but she persisted in affirm-
.ubgmft. She said no such thing, and
inqui . tiall she had not, though her
I “to” ad so connected her an-

t we“ to a .
nuke ondisconnected questions, as to

r

ermblance of truth on their part.
"mu! at signifies y0ur denial, Effie i”
’ 80°" Mother, “ it must be you did
think a?“ 30, for painful as it is to
t.“ a. at One of my children should
old” 16,1 cannot believe that these
withoptemons would tell what is false
thin u an ream: It is a dzeadful
.ei - ave ifficult wit our
“$3503 but not half 3); bad as to
“‘3 child tell an untruth. I shall
.n “t the matter myself this after-
i no?“ unless it is cleared up. Which
be», M} all likely, you may expect to
. Punished
stifled" in Will become you to be very
comae .tl 16 company is here. Of
and '6 1e{have all heard about you,
yams, [it “all to hear any thing from

.. P v v
00' Effie ! she honored her mother

 

t a statement hearing some

tO-morrow. And,” nhe,

 

105
according to the spirit of the fifth
command of the decalogue, which had
never been omitted in the weekly ‘cat-
echetical rehearsal, and keenly did she
always feel her displeasure, and never
intentionally did she meritiit, To her
then this seemed the acme of humili-
ation. She was believed to have said
what was very improper, at a time
when she thought herself to have been
especially mindful of the caution to
watch the door of her lips; and to
have denied it also, when in all her
short life she had never knowingly
dissembled.

Effie’s first resolve was to keep out
of sight entirely, indeed she did n't see
how she could ever hold up her head
again, But, the organ of hope. as t e
phrenologist would say, was large
developed. It was easier to bruise:
than to break her spirit; and memory
coming to her aid with the h0usehold
adage, “Two ears and but one tongue,”
slie determined once at least to be a
silent observer.

At length, one after another, each
guest had arrived; and within ' the
apartment graced by their presence,
the shrinking Effie 'ed by her ‘sister
had found the least conspicuous nook.
Accustomed to make mountains o
mole-hills, these “ wise ones ” found 
the theme before them lenty 'of gossip
for the afternoon. “ t Was so very
improper for children to be telling
what was said at home,”—“Such a
dreadful thing for Becca Jones to beiii a
m'ifl‘,” and —“ How- exceedingly well-
intentioned herpains-taking informant,
Mrs. Medley,”-—- whom you, dear reader,
are to contemplate as one of the vix-
ens,ivhose husband had previously taken
a “ French leave,” and who was assum-
ing various girlish airs, and inflicting
all the evil upon the innocent, in re-
venge for what she deemed a personal
slicrht by the family. '1 ‘

’ [here was, however, one there, who
seemed out of place in “the element
about her, one who realized $59
young hearts were susceptible“ MW
{cring—- that too 'innc-h severity it! I
brea the twig it was only design to

 

106

bend. She was at pains to say dis-
tinctly that “it was passible for a
child to be frightened into forgetful-
ness for a time, and to say the least,
it was very silly for any body to no-
tice what such a little girl had said.”
Effie had not heard in vain. She
mentally resolved to retrieve her char-
acter for integrity, of which this recent
act of injustice had robbed her, and,
while life lasted, to cherish the mem-
ory of the last speaker. M. s. L.

 

BESSIE LEE’S DIARY.
BY H88. 0. H. GILDERSLIEVI.
(Continued)

ULY 1. ‘Home again,and allseemed

glad to see me. For me, the thrill
of friendship. and domestic affection
quivered through my heart, and left it
many degrees warmer. Lillie never
looked so pretty, nor Weston so much
a man, as when they welcomed me
back to their hearthstone. I really
believe they were sincere. Jane wept
for very gladness, and then for grief
because I was to marry the doctor. I
remonstrated, and told her she was to
be always with me. She said the man
was old enough to be my father, and
hers too. No matter for that; he
looked young, was handsome, and, be-
sides, there was a mystery about his
youth, and I, like Desdcruona, would
find food for my affection in the re-
cital. Jane groaned aloud, and grew
321m nervous, which was caused no

“bl by her anxiety for me. She
says she is only twenty-four years old,
thou .h I can scarcely remember when
she 1d not seem a woman. Perhaps
1‘“ myself. she has never been a child.
Her mother died when she was but
9‘31“ yea" 01d, and Dr. Mason at-
tended her during a long illness, with
3 3¢lfjforgetful96u which exalts him
more re my estimation than any thing
else. Jane says her mother would
never say any thing about her father
who she supposed died during 1m in:
fancy. Her mother came from Maine,

 

 

mm LEE’S DIARY.

#4

and for some unaccountable reason

would never tell any one the names of

their relatives. Dr. Mason was her
best friend, and her mother always
wept when he went away, and yet
Jane says she hates him more and
more as she grows older. She 18
warm-hearted, but her foolish dislikfl
is a strong proof that she has a we
head.

My friends are delighted that I have
won a heart which has withstood thO
artillery of several generations of girls.
who have passed into wives, or ol
maids, without so much as gaining “3°
least attention. I know I am not v81“
of his reference, forI am too happ]
to be oved. I am sure \Veston b9’
lieves that Mr. Lane visited me during
the first of my absence, for he was 0u
of town, and after his return said.
was well and looking happy. I If!"
him much —wish he was here to enJOY
my present happiness. He has g'Ono
to the far south, and stands at '. °
head of a large institution of learmlfg'
God bless him I I believeI loved W”
far better than he did me. 110 00"”
batted my faults, which, of course, "’5
amatter of dut with him. Hesboul '
have lived in t e days of John K003
and the fires of martyrdom WO“
have made him immortal. His 6?“.
acter was the nearest my girlish 1‘“
of a hero, and Dr. Mason is 1110"6
mystery. The poor idolize the I‘m"
which is a sure test of his good”
They consider him a wonderful “r
ing which came to them, and no
knows from whence. He nevef "
long enough for me to inquire 10”
childhood days, but I must malf°h
opportunity before long. I W”.
could defer our marriage two 0" t .
years longer, if it could be, and h“
him often, I should learn to know ' d
he expects of a wife. I ha“
been accustomed to submission, “PM
am sure he will expect it. I “o.
if he ever loved any one befOl'O'

ask him. "3' '
July 5. 
diet"

"a
[11'

Last night the

called, and I was alone, having
Lillie and \Veston to go out I“

,-A.._

 

- \l’

 

 

 

BESSIE LEE'S DIARY.

\_

me at home. Weston said in his teas-
ing Way, that it would not be benevo-
lent to leave the little mouse with the
Old owl, but then be supposed the said
"30".“ had no objection to feathers,
marlg’ as he always does, that I
would. not have the doctor if he were
not “Ch, and that he thinks he per-
“(My coincides with me. He do n’t
now me or he would not say so. To
Sure the appliances of wealth are a
"PI enjoyment, and I should in no
“’9 Object to a man on that account,
“t God knows I would never pol-
me my lips by saying I loved a man,
9“ .my heart was worshiping his
ssions.
lThe doctor did not seem very much
gszd at the idea of a tete-a-tete, at
m 'ch I Was somewhat surprised, and
a0"! annoyed. Perhaps it was only a
My 0f mine. I told him I was glad
‘t We might have a long talk to-
;fifi’" 0f the future, and he interrupted
3' Buying, “ Yes, of the future, but
no: 0f the past.”
hi hat is just what I would most
no: tt<>_converse about: and had you
.11 finished the sentence for me, I
°nld have added it,” I said, with my
“‘ Perverseness.
u he put is not ours —”
u 1“ memories are," I suggested.
'iu 0"" may be your own, and I
e lhare them if you will give me the
0 gain“; but forgive me, if I am not
g?" [Y generous ofmy own. It would
‘ if,” “0 happiness, and would be
0' $1 to me. Our lives are together
not the years. that are to come, and
gone-"090 Which, thank Heaven, are
I f?“ greatly hurt at his way of
“ .mg of the past, and told him
mu” IfProvidence had guided him in
filiueHWS Ways, which seemed for the
an: unPleasant, he must remember
“h the end was not yet, and learn,
w" ‘3 little Bessie, that the world
a not 30 very bad after all. .
“MW are too small for a feminine
.. £3030“. must put on stilts,” he
“81?.” | With a laugh which did not
“II exactly. 4

 

107

“Then you won’t tell me of your
father and mother, your brothers or
sisters ? ” I urged.

“ N o.”

“ N ever? ”

“Never.”

“1 don’t believe you were ever a
baby,”I replied,'trying to laugh off
the unpleasantness our conversation
had led to.

“I had parents, but no father or
mother. Those two last words com-
prehend more than the first. I have
long since ceased to speak of them.
Do you love me truly 't " he added, as
it were a continuation of the same
sentence.

“ I thought I did.”

“Do on ? ”

“ You have startled me out of all I
supposed, and I feel; and it seems as if
I was entirely unacquainted with
'ou.”

“ Bossie Lee, look at me. Do you
think there is any sin so great that it
may not be atoned for ? Do you think
you would never have loved me if you
knew my whole life was one of expia-
tion? Are any perfect? Is Bessie
Lee perfect? Does she not warm the
heart into happiness, and then when it
calls loudly for love’s sacrifice, take
back the hope she has given, by say-
ing ‘I thought I did.’ Is this a wo-
man’s love? If curiosity is stranger
than affection, we had better by far,
separate at once.”

I felt the great tears roll down my
cheeks, but my eyes kept wide open,
gazing into his handsome face dis-
torted into ugliness by the agony of
rememberance. I laid my hand upon
his frowning brow and said :

“Eldred, if I leavewvou, it will be
because you desire it. I have nothing
in my history which I would not tell
you, and did not imagine there was in

ours. Forgive me for casting shad-
ows, when I would have thrown only
sunshine.”

He drew my forehead down sod
kissed it, and I, in my simplicity, mdv
“The best friend I ever had did that
once, in the same way.” v

 

 

 

108

“ Who might your best friend be i ”
and the frown came back again.

“Harry Lane.”

“ That pedagogue l ”

“\Vhat do you mean? I tell you
he was the truest friend I ever had.”

“ Where is he now '1! ”

“I do n’t know. But you have not
told me what you meant by s eaking
so contemptuoust of him. loved
him next to the memory of my fa-
ther.”

“Did he love you as well? ”

“He never said he did, and I pre-
sume not.”

“ Well, for both of you.”

The doctor paced the room for a
few moments, and then took a seat
directly Opposite me, and looking
steadfastly in my eyes, asked, “Bessie
Lee, would you have married him had
he desired it? ”

“I never thought of such a thing,”
was my truthful reply.

“A lie would burn your lips my lit-
tle wife, and for your frankness I will
tell you this much. Harry Lane is
connected to me by the tics of blood.
1 can explain no more. I have sufi'ered
for the past, and you are the only joy
l have to brighten the future. Will
. you lpromise to let all that is gone rest

in si ence forever, remember forever? ”

“ Yes! if it will make you happy.”

“And never see lIarry Lane again?”

" Not intentionally.”

“I am, and will be, to you, all a
woman can ask in ahusband. I have
dreaded this trial, well knowing it
must come, and now we will be far
happier in each other’s society. 1
have long desired to change my posi-
tion» and seek a new field for my
profession. Would it please you to
go far away i ”

“ Anywhere.”

And so we talked long of the fu-
ture, and many plans were laid, which
seem very pleasant. I am very, very
happy when he talks to me, but sadly
uneasy when he is gone. I wish 'I
could still my heart‘s questionings.
Did I not do injustice'to my first friend
to give him up without a cause?

 

BESSIE LEE’S DIARY.

He has for-
gotten Bessie Lee long ago, for he has
never written a word, _or sent a pleas—
ant message to me, and here I am
filling these pages with self-accusa-
tions, for that with which I had ,notll-

Nonsense, to writerof it.

ing to do. I had better writeas I
used to, “nothing.”

July 12. I have accustomed my
pen to sad things, and can find noth-
ing to say now, I am so happy.

July 31. {The day is fixed, and
much sooner than I desired. I was to
have a year to prepare for my new po-
sition, and to retract within that time
if I was sorry, but the doctor felt so
nervous, he says, lest I should grow
weary of him before the year ex iresi
and then throw him back upon his old
hopeless way of living again. That is
a little selfish of him I know, but it is
perfectly natural I suppose. ‘

Jane is more and more uneasy abollt
the marriage, and I get almost vex
at the good creature sometimes. She
is but an uneducated girl, though Ill“
might have been fitted to fill any
position in life. I love her dearly, 8‘
which Lillie laughs, and tells the story
of the old woman who kissed the~00W-
I do n’t care for that; souls are alikav
whether the hands wield the brush of
an artist, or a whitewasher, and t ‘3
Motive makes the only difi'erence. She
has a package of letters, which 110,"
mother left sealed, and she thinks-1‘
would be sacrilege to open them,siflC°
it would probably disclose the W3r
things she so carefully conceal - ‘
Then a natural longing to know 30m”
thing of her kindred, prompts a”,
opening. Poor thing! I would 11"
advise her to do either, lest she 8110“
afterward regret it. "

In September I shall be in my 9°"
home. Eldred is going to Galena. ,
live, and I am glad. I always ion uh
to dwell near the prairies, and W“

the sun go down among the 'flOWofl' .

Lillie is delighted at the idles 0
wedding, and I suppose it wi _
splendid as VVeston’s purse will 
init. I wish we could go quietly“
church; ‘it would be much m9"

 

A}-

 

 

 

lecordance with my taste and ideas of
sacredness of the rite. But then I
Ogle my friends something for their
~ dness to me,’ and this mustbe the
PIyment. They will never realize how
great a one it is—never. '
' Jane stitches and stitches day after
8y for me, and now and then the
tlBars fall upon her work. I asked the
20mg t1? allow me to take her with
an ere )lied sternl , “An thin
but that. 1I dislike they sight if berg,
_ " {he looks as if she was always sus-
Mmg me of something. She told
me Once we looked alike, and though
0‘ may think me vain to care for
“ch 8 thing, I tell you I dislike her.
°“. "my carry the whole almshouse,
t not Jane Parker.”
.I‘ felt grieved and hurt at his un-
Pndness to both of us, and thought
In a little vindictive. He must have
“en my thoughts in my eyes, for be
‘ "ed to settle two hundred a year
"9°11 her when we ‘went away, if I
°“ld .promise that she should never
inw its source. Of course I prom-
eb -_ IIow generous he is! Ifc arity
~ laundered at a moneyed value, covers
,multltude of sins, surel his can hide.
eO'centricities ——I will not give his
. llaritiesa harsher name. How
curious that two so opposite in years,
. "cation, and circumstances, should
' eartin dislike each other, with no
“3°11 for the foundation of their ha-
edvfifld yet both loving me sodearly,
f With about as strong an argument
0" spiteing each other.
0W stnangely I have changed, to

it” trying to reconcile two antagonistic

PS: when I used to wonder if peo-

u Sui any thing else besides dislike
“1°. other. The human heart is a
nous thing surely — not half so bad

I d to suppose. I wonder, how
"9" hated any one. When we get
.u‘On’s share of the pleasant things of
.' World, we find it a, delightful

' g ‘0 “V6; but if we fall below the

yummy We have taken of what we '

we onghc to possess  every
:2: '.h° has more, we arr’aign before
“bun” Of our own selfish hearts,

BESSIE LEE’S DIARY.

 

1,09

and decide that they have defrauded
us, and give them a mental, if not an
audible anathema accordingly. This
last sentence is a personal thrust at
you, Bessie Lee, Sen.

'1 have separated Bessie Lee, Sen.
from Bessie Lee, J r., for two years has
made them sufficiently unlike'to divide
them. I used secretly to blame every
one for not loving me, and now I won-
der'why they do at all. These happy
days pass on with little to make them
real, so dream-like are they. Is this
true life? That question was written
an hour ago, and no answer comes
yet. Perhaps it will, in my dreams.

Aug. 26. Five more days, and then
repentance will be of no avail. Mrs.
Wilson asked me a month ago why I
was to marry Dr. Mason, and insisted
on an answer. I could give her none,
that did not make me dissatisfied with
m self, and with the one who asked it.
I told her that it was the same that
made her marry, I supposed, and she
replied earnestly, “God help you, if
you had no better one than I had.”

“ What was yours? ” I inquired.

“First, because women are taught
fromtheir childhood that they must,
and that a failure to secure another
name, and somebody to buy one’s
dresses and bonnets, is a sad disgrace.
Secondly, I was poor, and had but few
friends, and felt grateful to the one
who offered to take care of me as long
as I lived, and loved me, so he said.
Under, and over these two reasons was
vanity, for you know my husband was
rich and handsome. Few women
marry the one they would choose had
they their own choice, and after-life
shows that Providence did better for
the many, than they would have done
for themselves. This sounds very un~
romantic, I own, but remember I was
one of the few who had the very one I
would have selected from the whole
world, and now I am the wife of an
imprisoned gambler. Ambition v’fot
wealth, instead of the higher aim! 0‘
true manhood, ruined one whom ja-
tnre intended to be truly nobiezf’.  ~

That pale, strange womanrm‘h 3'

    

 

    

110

BEN“ LEE’S DIARY.

 

 

tearless eyes, and smileless lips, has
conjured up a ghost that haunts me
Continually. I wish I had not yielded
to this before the year expired, but
’t is too late. IIow silly I have grown
of late. They say that people in love
are but a degree removed from fools,
and I believe it. But am I in love?
I doubt it. I feel as if I was about to
engage in some employment which
had many advantages. Permanency,
abundant compensation, and but little
labor. That last sentence is exalting
to womanhood, very. Cousin Lillie
says she felt so, and has not been dis-
appointed. I don’t think she has.
But I am falling into my old way of
being sarcastic.

Aug. 28. I received a letter from
one of my old patrons to-day, who has
removed to Kentucky, and he desires
me, in the name of the Board of Edn-
cation, to come to them immediately,
as the principal of the young ladies’
department is ill, and as resigned.
He wishes me to take her place very
much. I am to reply in person if pos-
sible, and if not, write immediately.
I am pleased that one of those whom
I have striven to benefit, remembers
me with kindness. It is the most ex-
quisite of all enjo ments to be useful
to some one, and know that it is not
forgotten. This remembrance is the
unselfish feeling which connects me to
the memory of Harry Lane, who is
now buried to me, by the doctor’s dis-
like, forever. I wish the man, who is
to be my husband, did not cherish so
many unaccountable animosities. The
ones I love best, he dislikes most
heartily. Lillie says, it .is a natural
jealousy, and quite common in lovers,
but that it will die out in a husband’s
heart. Poor Jane! how I shall grieve
at parting with her! Lillie says she
shall always care for her a; her mother
did, when she took her a little girl
 years Of a I hope she may
do better, for Lillie’s mother only made
a drudge of the child, and, gave her
but an apology for the commonest of
common school education, and row.
pieud as she recounts the we cfu]

 

kindnesses she has shown to the poor
friendless thing. I wish I had a more
charitable thermometer to tr the
warmth of eo le’s hearts. Lillie has
been very in to her, perhaps better
than I give her credit for. She has.
under her (-nnventionalities, a warm
corner in her heart, and the only wonder
in my mind, as I learn how she was edu-
cated, is, that she is as noble as she is.
Had I not been blinded by my own
faults, I shOuld have loved her better
long ago. She, is governed too much
by what the world lays down as law,
and who is not? Bessie Lee is.

Aug. 31 —Midnight. Dear diary!
You are my only friend, my one confi-
dant in my great afliiction. I darenot
ask to have this cup removed from me
lest I sin, but ’t is almost greater than I
can bear. It is the hand of my Heav-
enly Father, and I kiss the rod. One
hour and it will be over. My trunks an
packed for the place where I was t0
ive as the wife 'of Eldred Mason, but
another home will be mine, a more
toiling life, but God’s blessing will rest
upon me. '

Jane came to me this evening, as If
was tobe my last at home, and Ihad
particularly desired to see no one, to so!
that as I was her only friend,she woul
commit her mother’s letters to me,
if I would please takethe trouble to read
them,and if I thou ht proper, reseal 0‘
destroy them,'or, igit was best, that all.
should know their contents, she woul
read them. Sheleft all tome. I
intended this evening to reply to th‘
letter calling me south, but as Jam
would never have another favortocra" .
from me, I complied, and what a weight
crushed down my poor aching spirit
Dr. Mason was her father! He WO”
the love of her mother during his later
years of study, and she, a frail deVO“
creature, found herself a mother and de’
serted‘ before she was twenty yetm
age. Eldred’s father, asa letter from
him proved, tried, but in vain, to In.
his proud son offer the on] reparatw'

in his wer. Father an son ‘

agar
The do “bl.

with hatred on both sides. '
has tried to expiate his sin by chan

 

 

 

k

, d«tie, and a life of self-denying use-
fillness. The poor woman followed
him, and it was happiness enough to

near him, and so she died, hugging

0. cankering secret to her heart, con-
soling herself with the promise that
her child should be cared for after her
death. ~

God knows I could forgive a sin
l°ng repented of, but the miserable
"at of manhood which would let his
9'11 child grow up as poor Jane had

9“, was too much for human for-
S'Weness. I knew what he lacked—

8} certain want in his character
“Hell had so puzzled me. -I thrust
the letters into the open grate, and lit

0111 with my lamp, then knelt before
I 0 curling blaze and thanked God
who had led me by a way that I knew
, “Pt. I prayed fOr direction in the

"gilt path as I never prayed before,
and my petition is answered.

I rose bewildered, and while pacing
‘my I'Oom my eye fell on the unan-
fwel‘ed letter. I seized it, and putting
it ‘9 my lips reverently, said aloud,

T510 will save me.” I called Jane
“my, and composed myself to tell her

at my marria e would not beon the
"'9"°W- She ooked surprized, and
“‘3, “The letters, Bessiel ’ '

. hey are in ashes. They contained
“thing which would make you better
i.” appier, so I burned them. You
1“:tl‘ust me, for I did right, Jane.”

Yes! but why do you not marry

9 doctor l ” r

“I believe it is God’s will that I

. mild not, and I know it is not my de-
- . GO out softly, and call a car-
}“se' to take me to the depot for the
our O’clock train, and I will write a

0‘0 to cousin \Veston and Lillie while
you". gone.» .

. he remonstrated with me forgoing

“My alone, but I told her it was bet-
',°°. and I should hurry on to accept
“nation which had been offered me

M 3 tBitcher. She finally complied,

now lies pretending to sleep upon

“7 Poor 'rl! She is waiting

 me 03‘, while I am trying to P333
“"10 with my pen.

ran HYLOINTE.

 

 

111

I have writtento the doctor, and

told the whole truth. I must not tell
another, though ‘I should lose the
friendship of my cousins, who are so
kindly, ls they suppose, adding to my
pleasure. I left it to the doctor’s moral
courage and generosity, (i) to remove
their displeasure. Will he? God
help me, when this is over. I’ve no
one left me now. But little as I an,
I do not fear to battle my way in life.
Better be alone, than united to one the
world honors, but whose soul is pol-
luted by heartless meanness—by due.
tardly crime. No wonder he hates
Harry Lane, noble Harry Lane 1 How
can the same blood run in both their
veins? '
It may be long before I give you
another word, dear journal, perhaps
never. Strange that I feel so cal-m,
when there is such cause for sorrow,
yet there is no tear in my eyes, or a
regret in my heart. Half-past three
o’clock, and we must get the trunks
out into the street, lest we waken the
household. Poor, poor Jane !

(To be concluded.)

 

THE HYACINTH.

MILY was sorry that the winter

lasted so lon ; for she loved
flowers, and had a little garden, where
she tended the very beautiful ones
with her own hands. Therefore she
longed for spring, and that winter
mi ht .

gnepdhsy her father said, “Look
here, Emily. I have brought you a
bulb, which you must plant and rear
carefully.”

“How can I, Idear father?” an-
swered the girl. The ground ia as
hard as a stone, and covered with
snow.” '

Thus she said, for she did not W
that bulbs will grow in flower.»
and lasses, because she had never!“
itbeore. '

Her father gave her a flower?“
filled with mold, and Emily rut the

 

    

.»

112

bulb into it. But she looked at her
father and smiled, doubting whether
her father had spoken in earnest _or
not; for she fancied the blue sky must
smile on the flower, and spring breezes
fan it; that so much beauty could
not come forth from under her hands.
For infantile simplicity and humility
desire not that any extraordinary
thing should take place for their grat-
ification.

After a few days the earth swelled
in the pot; little green leaves sepa-
rated it with their points, and appeared
above it. Then Emily was delighted,
and announced to her father and mo-
ther, and the whole house, the birth of
the young plant. The parents smiled
and said:

“ We shall now see her taking care
of her plant as of a child, loving and
ho ing in silence. So we shall be de-
llglited with Emily, as she is with her
flower.”

Carefully Emily watched the plant,
and smiled with joy on perceiving its
growth. Her father looked at her and
said :

“ Well done, my child; sunshine
must follow after rain and dew. The
kind glance of the eye gives value to
the good action which the hand per-
forms. Your little plant will prosper,
Emily.”

Presently the leaves came uitelout
of the earth, and glowed in t ieir ver-
dant freshness. Then Emily’s joy in-
creased. -

'“Oh!” said she, from the fullness
of her heart, “I shall be contentgeven
if no flowers should come.”

“ Contented spirit,” said the father,
“ you will receive more than you dare
to hope for. This is the reWard of
modesty.” He showed now the bud
of the-flower, which was concealed
between the leaves.

Emily’s care and love increased day
by day with the gradual development
of the flower. With tender hand;
she sprinkled water on it, asking
whether it was enough or too much,
or 'whether it might be too cold.

THE HYACINTH

 

 

When a sunbeam stole through the
window, she w0uld gently carry the
plant into the sunshine, and breathe
on the leaves to take off the dust, as
the morning breeze passes over the
rose. ~

“ Oh, sweet union of tenderest love
and innocence,” said her mother.
“The poorer the soul, the more heavv
enly the love will be.”

The flower was Emily’s last thought
in the evening, and her first in the
morning. Several times she beheld in
dreams her hyacinth in full bloom;
and when she saw herself disappointed
in the morning, she was not troubled.
but said, smiling, “It still blooms!”
Sometimes she would ask her father in
what colors the flower would appear,
and after having rehearsed all colon,
she said with cheerful voice:

“It is immaterial to me, if it will
only bloom.”

“Sweet fancy,” said the father;
“how playfully and busily dost thou
employ innocent love and infantile
hope 1 ”

At length the flower blossomed.
Twelve buds opened early in the
morning, hanging gracefully between
five emereld green leaves, in fresh,
youthful beauty. Their color was
rosy, like the reflection of the morning
sun, or the delicate flush on Emily’s
cheeks; and a balmy fragrance hung
around each flower.

Emily could not comprehend SO
much beauty ; her joy was silent and
wordless. On her knees before the
plant, she gazed intently on the newly
opened flowers. Then her father 60'
tered, and seeing his beloved child an
blooming hyacinths, he said, with“
emotion:

“See, Emily, you are to us what the
hyacinth is to you.” ,

The young girl rose from her kneefli
and threw herself into her father'5
arms. After a fervent embrace, 8119
said in a gentle voice: ‘

“Oh, my fatherl could I but giVO
you as much joy as the flower hf"
given you.” Kanxuacnaa.

 

 

 

 

' all A

k

“FETCH” AND CARRY.

BY ALICE B. NEAL.
The dog that will fetch will carry.—OLD Paovurn.

IT is not to be supposed that we la-
bor under the delusion common
among fond parents in regarding any
0 our heroines perfect. ~
Mrs. Murray Cooper was industrious
and cheerful, and, as far as she knew
‘°W to be, economical; but she had
91‘ Own human weakness. \Vhen she
commenced housekeeping, she had still
GVF'Y thing to learn. Conscious of
this. fact, and that her sway as Miss
sfnlth had been confined almost en-
umlz' t0 the unruly urchins of her
Wusm's nursery, she was afraid of her
“Waflm, and occasionally altogether
yielding and conciliating for their
“have position of mistress and maid.
‘ 9 dreaded open insubordiuation;
s e dl'eaded change; she believed that
9}” 1lousehold kingdom would go to
nuns If Ann, the cook, should leave
.6? anti shut her eyes entirely to Ju-
l“ I delinquencies, though fretted daily
I the neglect of her duties as com-
‘ned purse and chambermaid, which
e could not avoid feeling if she
“211d. not see.
, Itchers empty as usual,” said Mr.

C - Per, grasping the handle of the ar-

twe in question, which flew up in his
3d: “3 light weight always will.

. a I am so sorry! Here, let me
et‘ "9 for you.” And Mrs. Cooper
w 91;th her dressing-gown about her

We and, twisted up the long hair
“:glléfid just brushed free ‘of every
.“ Indeed, you ’ll do no such thing!
ng in Julia, and blow her up) It’s
y2u°vegyday matter now. ’ I wonder

“Bui- Johnnie has been so wakeful
:Y 3 and it’s washing-day, too, you

3 i find she has to help Ann.”
th J “11.81 ” shouted Mr. Cooper over
iv: emitters, unheeding the interrupt.

. aP°lOgy for what was by no means

mu“! negleet. v

.mm below came 11 a great sound
or huh“ merriment, Iwhere Juliawas

she comes.

 

“FETCH” AND CARRY. ‘ m

promoting the health of Master J obn-
nie by letting him stifle in the smoke
from the mutton chops broiling and
dripping over the range, and rattling
two nutmegs in a pint measure to keep
him quiet, while she» gossiped wit
the cook.

“My dear Murray! here, Murray;
there was plenty of water in the nurs-
ery,” said Mrs. Cooper, in a tremor,
lest Julia, by any accidental pause,
should hear, and so receive a piece ‘of
her husband’s present mind.

“ Well, if you will wait on your
girls, it"s none of my. business; only, I
say, Martha, do n’t let it happen again,_
and row her up well this time. Here
Let’s hear you now.”

Mr. Cooper being perfectly aware of
his wife’s deficiency of commanderdn-
chief qualities, subsided into good-bu.
mor at having her thus cornered.

The nurse, a stout, careless-looking
girl, sauntered lazily into the room»
with the child in her arms.

Mr. COOper gave his wife a quizzical
look from behind the towel, which
said, “ Go on ; have it over with,” as
plain as print. . '

“ Julia ! ” began Mrs. Murray, with
an unusual deck of resolution in her
tone.

The girl turned with a stare of im-
‘iertinent wonder. ‘ -

“Oh, dear! if she should walk off
and leave me! Johnnie never will let
me get him to sleep; and I do n’t know
anv thing about his food,” thought
J ohnnie’s unpracticed mother.

“ The pitcher was not. filled to«

. night;” the tone was considerable more

quivering — “do n’t let it happen
again.”
Meekness herself could not have s
ken more mildly than the concluding
sentence was uttered. Mr. Cooper hur-
ried down stairs to prevent an eirploo~
sion of laughter. The girl did notreply,
but began getting out the child’s night-
clothes with a sullen air of ofl'endd'
dignity, which made her mistresl‘
ougth uncomfortable. .» . . .
“I do wish Murra wouldnot ’11:“!
things as he does. I’m' I!" I m

 

 

 

  

 

114

“WIDE” IND GARRY.

 

 

willing to wait on myself, or him either,
for that matter. I declareI neverwill
speak to Julia again I I wish she was
more amiable.”

“ Well, my dear, what a blast it
was l ” greeted her as she entered the
dining-room. “ Really, I wonder the

oor creature bore up under it. You
should have been a man, and a sea-
captain at that. What splendid disci-
pline you would keep!”

“ I do n’t see any use in lecturing an
hour for a triiflng forgetfulness,” re-
torted Mrs. Cooper crossly.

It was a sore point between them;
and what with her husband’s toilet in-
terrupted for want of water the third
time within a week, the girl’s unpar-
donable neglect and annoying imper-
tinence, she was on the verge of
downright ill-humor.

“ You are only “making yourself
more trouble.”

“I do n’t think so at all. I should
have trouble enough if she left me.
You never would find any body else so
devoted to Johnnie.”

“ Fiddlestick l ”

“She has him in her arms from
morning till night. Sometimes it’s
four o’clock before she gets a chance
to finish our room.”

“ So much the worse. Will you
ring for dinner, Martha — just because
she likes to shoulder him, musket
fashion, and walk around, rather than
do her work. He ’s altogether too
lar e to be nursed as he is. He never
wil walk at this rate. Russell says
hi! hlby can go all around the room,
holding on by the chairs; and it’s a
month younger.”

“And a girl. Girls are always more
forward than bovs”

“But Johnnie does not even try to

creep.”
“ trust he never will -- mining all
his clothes on the floor!”

“How will he ever get the me of
his limbs, if he doesn‘ti Do be rea-
sonable, Martha; you know the old
‘roverb—a man must creep Info"
lie can walk. Come, now, do n‘t 1;
blue, only be decided; he a little more

 

firm, that ’s all I ask of you; you will

et along a great deal better. Dear
lgmows, I’ve no wish to deprive on of
such a daily comfort and blessing as
the devoted Julia ! ”

Mrs. Cooper knew in her heartthat
she was nothing of the kind; on the
contrary, “ smoke to the eyes, and vin-
egar to the teeth,” would have been
more truly descriptive. But; though
she chafed at daily and hourly trials
of temper, she had not the courage to
rid herself of the cause.

The young person in question took
the trouble off her hands by giving
most unexpected and inconvenient “no—
tics.” It is quite remarkable with what
nicety domestics always hit the busiest
and most pre-occupied moment for
giving *‘ a warning.” In the midst of
house-cleaning, pickling, and preserv-
ing, Miss Julia settled upon her wed-
ding-day, and walked off with Patrick
to the priest, where she had the pleas-
ure of paying her own marriage fee, 3
cheerful omen of the abundance aI'IC.l
comfort she might expect for the fu-
ture. But Patrick was out of employ-
ment, and had been for a month; and
another noticeable fact in Milesian
customs and manners is that this is the
time they usually prefer in which 00
insist on takin their betrothed from.
a comfortable ome, and good wage!
to pay the way, as long as it lasts, with
her savings; fortune-hunting below
stairs, and perhaps not more repre'
hensible than on the larger scale witl|
which one meets it in society. .

Mrs. Cooper had very little sym'
pathy from her husband, when 31"
met him at the door with her dolel'llI
intelligence.

“ Right in the middle of the day l “"
our room all in disorder—not even
the bed made ; and Johnnie just wak-
ing up as cross as possible —-— after i
many times I’ve put myself out 0“
her account! Why, I’ve done 113
the work myself, to keep peace, 0'“
since she has been here! ” ' I

“ Exactly what you might expecl‘”
doing so.” « ‘

“But what am I todoaewf”

 

 

 

 

k

-“ Good fish in the sea as ever were
brought to Fulton Market, my love.”
It was finally arranged that Mr.
per should dine down town so as
‘0 glve the cook leisure to see after
Lputter Johnnie, next day; while Mrs.
Cooper, with the Herald as her chart,
ould go on a voyage of discovery.
‘ be set out, feeling more than be-
reaved; she returned flushed with suc-
M: for once, fortune had favored
"; 3nd Julia’s successor was already
figaged to come the following morn-

“She's just as neat as Julia was
“Peless.”

“HOW do you know?” in uired
M“ Cooper, incredulous. but glad to
of?“ the matter so quickly disposed
of: He had expected at least a week

zearch and lamentation.

Sh HOW? By her dress, of course.

E388 dressed as well as I am.”

ery unsuitabl for her sition
than, I should say.”y p0 ’
mu Well, not so good materials, of
bum; not so expensive, perhaps;
the effect was just the same; and
ufiilgzdwelvets in her hair, really quite
\  !” '
‘That ’3 nothing, I’m sure; every-

“? Wears velvets now.”

Then I should take mine out, if I

0:0 3'0".”

. D0 “’1’. be provoking, Murray! I
“be, you .could have seen her; and
and“ 8 girl of such good education

manners! She was boarding,
“0W, and there lay her testament
thinkPrayer-book on the table. Only
com how fortunate we are to have a
Th«illumcant in our own church!
"m Was in the advertisement, and
yo“ mfide me notice it first. Do n’t
find think we are very fortunate to

u a girl of such good principles?”
M u does n’t always follow. IIow

“ t he? recommendations 9 ”

Oh, that ’s the be“ or all! She

‘ Ways lived with her mother: “d
u i you know? ”

Wd‘d u’t know it before.” 1

e“, the has; and has never

 

“ FETCH ” AND CARRY.

 

1-15

lived Out but in one place; and whom
do you think she lived 'with? Mrs.
Miller.”

“Charlie Miller’s wife? You do n’t
tell me sol She would n’t say any
thing but the truth to help along any
girl in Christendom? What did she
say i ”

“I believe you think Mrs. Miller
perfection. It’s very strange she never
took the trouble to call on your wife.
Going to the same church, too! ”

There was a slight shade of bique
in this remark, for Mrs. Miller was
both stylish and. fashionable; " and,
though Mrs. Murray admired her
greatly at a distance, and would have
been delighted to exchange visits—
a how was the utmost civility that had
everpassed between them. Mr. Coo r
had known her well in his bache or
days, for she belonged to the circle in
which he then revolved.

“But what did she say of —— what’s
her name? Lucy ? ”

“Yes, Lucy; it ’s so refined after the
Bridgets‘and Anns I have seen. Oh,
she had no written character as they
call it, for she left there when very ill!
Otherwise, Mrs. Miller never Would
have parted with her, she says; and
she never thought to get her to write
one afterward.” ~

“ So on bad to call on Mrs. Miller
first, after all ! Good I ” '

“ Indeed, I did not i”

“ You have not engaged her with-
out inquiring her character? ”

“Certainly I have. If you could
have seen her, so modest and well-
bred, and such a good seamstress,

ou w0uld have done so too. Why, I
felt as if it was an insult to her, asking
for a reference ! But I always do when
engaging a girl ! It is as much as to
say I doubt their word, poor things!”

“ The bank had no such scruplea
when your respected husband was re-
quired to give a ten thousand dollar
bond before he could get the teller.-
ship.” _ ,
“But that was a different 
You were a young man then, and "I
to be trusted with money.” ‘

 

 

116. . “FETCH” AND CARRY.

 

"‘ I suppose Johnnie is a less precious
deposit. ’ I tell you what, Martha, it
seems tome that, if I was a woman,
which I’m thankful I ’m not, you know
I ’d sooner trust a person with my cash
than my'boy. You can do as you'
please,’but I do wish you would get
over this ridiculous notion of hurting
people’s feelings. A' nice timeI should
have with my office-boy if I stopped to
cOnsult his before I requested him to

et a hod of coal, or go an errand ! ”

“I don’t believe she’ll make her ap—
pearance,” {was Mr. Cooper’s parting
remark, as he stood on the front door-
step, and signaled the omnibus. Un-
believing to the last.‘ But, when his
ring was answered at night by a mod-

est, “genteel,” active girl, such a con-‘

trast to the indolent J ulia, he could but
give agracious assent to his Wife’s in-
quiry as to how he liked the change.

“ How dees sh‘e wear ? ” he Inquired,
when handing‘out her wages at the end
of the first month. a I

“Better and better. I never have
had so much time to myselfsince John-
nie was born. She flies through the
work mornings, and has him dressed
and off for his walk before eleven o’-
clock. Lucy thinks it’s so much bet-
ter for children to be in the open air. I
never could get Julia to carry him over
a square.”

“The devoted J ulia?
ble ? ” h

“ You need not commence on that
now. She ’s gone, poor thing ! and she
really was very good to him. He never
will be as fond of Lucy with all her
coaxin .” ‘

“Perhaps she neglects him out of
sight. Where does she take him when
she goes out i ”

“ Def“: me: MurrayJ would not be
so suspicious as you are for the world !
Why, she just walks" with him, of
course I ”

“ And is gone all the morning? You
need n’t tell me she carries that great,
heavy boy all morning.” " ‘

“She goes to VVashington'Square, I
suppose, and sits down, to rest, as an
other nurses do. I should be ashamed

Is it possi-

' Onlv think!

 

to question a girl like her. Why, just
see how strict she is about going to
church, now 'she has an opportunity!
. She says she lived with
Mrs. Miller ten months, and only got to
church once! If I was Mrs. Miller. I
should stay at home once'in awhile,
and remember that my girls had souls
as well as myself.”

“Perhaps she did not want to go.”

“She. couldn’t get away; they had
so much dinner-company. Lucy knows
how Ifeel about Sunday dinners. For
my part, I should much prefer to have a
cold joint. Lucy says there is hardly a
Sunday of their lives that they do not
haVe two or three gentlemen to dine.
Oh, Murray,I 'forgot to tell you; she
says the Morrisons came there a great
deal. Mrs. Morrison is quiteintimate;
and she has heard her say such things
about other people, their acquaintances,
you know, when she has been doing up
Mrs. Miller’s room. Girls see a great

I deal behind the scenes in families.”

Mr. Cooper did not respond, but sat
piling the seven gold dollars on the ta-
ble before him, and knocking them
down again, with an expression about
his mouth his wife could not exactly un-
derstand, when she looked up to seeif

'he heard her.

“ Do nt you think so? ” she resumed.

“ So it seems,” he answered dryly.

“And Lucy says, only think, dear!
that Mrs, Miller is one of the most ex-
travagant persons she ever saw. Such
scenes when the bills came in ! I al-
ways thought she dressed a great deal.
And there ’s her sister, Miss Van-
dervort; Mrs. Miller gives her half she
wears, they are so straitened, for all
she holds her head so high. And Mr.

Miller, he’s out four evenings out of

the week,for all his wife —”

Mrs. Cooper paused abruptly, checked
by a very significant cough from her
listener; and her face grew scarlet.

“Now, that’s what advertisements
call, ‘Interesting to Ladies,’ is n’t it?
You seem completely booked up, Mar-
tha. What a very intelligent and ob-
serving person Lu‘cy must be, as well
as high princrpled? I should think

 

r

 

 

 

“FETCH” AND CARRY.

117

 

you would be afraid to have herabout
your heuse.”

“ How so ’9‘ ” Mrs. Murray could
not see why they need fear. ,

“ Why, her next mistress will be
entertained with our peculiarities and
weak points, that’s all. I suppose
you believe this stuff 1 ”

“I don’t see any reason to doubt
it I’m sure. Lucy is n’t one to tell a
falsehood.”

“I ’m not certain of that.”

“You have no reason to speak so,”
said his wife warmly; “injuring a poor
girl’s character.”

“‘Tattle and Fib,’ as the children
say, are very near relations.” And, to
change the subject, Mr. Cooper fished
in his overcoat pocket for the Evening
Express.

“But, Murray, you never will be-
lieve anybody.”

“ To balance our account, my love,
you always believe everybody. Now,
do you suppose Mrs. Miller would
keep a girl ten months from church, if
she showed the least disposition to at-
tend ? ”

“I ‘suppose’ only what I ’m told.”
And Mrs. Cooper laid a tolerable em-
phasis on the last word, indicative of
rising mercury in the thermometer of
her temper and disposition. It was
not the first time she had been taken
to task for repeating private histories
of her acquaintances, gleaned from
feminine sources. Mr. Cooper hated
personal gossip as he did January
bills, which is the strongest compari-
Son one could make in his case; and,
though his wife was not especially in-
clined that way, she sometimes left the
law of charity —“ thinking no evil "—
Out of sight. - .

“ Just take my word for it, Martha
‘I ’m very good-natured to-night,
cleared the year’s rent this week, and
I do n’t want to be upset ——if that girl
tells you unpleasant things of Mrs.
Miller, she will entertain the next per-
son tha't will listen ”-~ Mr. Cooper
Inade an expressive pause —“ qulte as
disagreeable stories of us.”

“ What could she say 2 ” Mrs.

von. III. 8.

 

Cooper was quite in earnest about it.
“ I’m sure, clear, there ’s nothing goes
on in this house but that I should be
willing the whole world should see.”

“ That’s so, through an honest me.
dium; but not through smoked glass,
Martha! that ’s the thing; and just
this story has made me suspicious of
Lucy. I haven’t half the confidence
in her I had an hour ago; for I must
say I never have seen any thing in her
to find fault with.”

In spite of a resolution not to mind
it, Mrs. Cooper herself felt a secret un-
easiness from that moment. She no-
ticed Johnnie was far more fretful ; but
that was his teeth, Lucy said. He
did not take to her as he had done to
Julia; but then it was a work of time
to wean a child from its nurse. Some-
times she would hear the fretfulness
suddenly cease, when Lucy was alone
with him in her own room, to be re-
sumed, in a quarter of an hour or so,
more distracting than ever. Johnnie
began to droop, and had but little ap-
petite for his bread and milk; but his
sleepless nights did away with all sus-
picions of an opiate privately adminis-
tered, which a friend kindly suggested.
Trifling discrepancies gradually crept
into Miss Lucy’s account of their daily
walks and the touching history of her
own orphanhood, the incidents of
Which found a sympathizing listener in
her new mistress. It never had oc-
curred to her to doubt a word of it
heretofore; and Lucy had been re-
lieved of much drudgery that Julia
dragged through with in the course of
the week, because Mrs. Cooper could
not make up her mind to ask a girl
who “really looked as much like a.
lady as herself,” and “had seen better
days,” to d0 it. She waited on her-
self more than ever, and was becoming
as much .8 slave to Lucy’s suggestions
and opinions as she had been to Julia’s
sullenneSS, in spite of her determina-
tion to the contrary.

Mr..Cooper having no such fear be-
fore'his eyes, noted various symptoms
of human imperfection in their “all-
accomplished maid ;” but, though his

 

  

118

wife acknowledged some of them, and
felt an uncomfortable surveillance over
herself and her visitors, these new
bonds were still harder to break than
the last.

Mr. Cooper, passing through an 9b-
scure street, one morning, to arrive
sooner at a friend’s counting-house,
met him a square’s distance from it,
and stopped to discuss the business ar-
rangement on which he was bent,

“Fifty cents on a dollar! ” said Mr.
Allen; well,I’m sorry for poor Brown.
I’ll see. Just look at that girl,
Cooper! How little fathers and mo-
thers know what become of their chil-
dren out of sight! See, that ’s a
gentleman’s child, evidently. What a
filthy alley he’s been taken. to! I’ve
seen her before, though ; she stays by
the hour when 'she comes; and of
course the mother thinks the boy is
taking the air.” .

“Taking smallpox, more likely,”

Mr. Cooper returned, carelessly. But
what was his friend’s astonishment to
see him spring forward, the next mo-
ment, and snatch the child away, to
the girl’s astonishment as well as his
own. It was Lucy who stood before
him in speechless confusion, conscious
that, only the day before, she had as-
sured Mrs. COOper that she never saw
an acquaintance from one week’s end
to another, and would as soon give
him poison as candy, with which his
little thin hand was filled when she so
suddenly encountered his father.
‘ Mr. Cooper had Mr. Allen’s uncon-
scious testimony that it was nothing
new. He paid her wages to the day,
and discharged her on the spot, taking
Johnnie home himself, before 'she
should come for her trunk, and have
an Opportunity to tell her story to his
wife.

Contrary to his expectations, Mrs.
Cooper seemed to feel it a relief; and
she did indeed breathe more freely
when the sobbing Lucy had kissed
. Master Johnnie good-by, and followed
her trunk out of the house.

“Lucy has got a place, ma’gm’”
said Ann, the cook, a few days after a

 

 

“FETCH” AND CARRY.

new girl had been installed in the neat
little nursery. “I saw her at thecor-
ner, last evenin’, ma’am; an’ the lady
said she wouldn ’t ask any character
of such a tidy-lookin’ one. It’s alady
as comes here sometimes; and she
lives in Twentieth Street, Lucy says.”

“ Mrs. Gregory 1” And Mrs. Cooper
instantly felt a secret uneasiness at be-
ing served up to Mrs. Gregory as Mrs.
Miller had been to her. “But, dear
me, there’s nothing she could say
against us.” But she had just discov-

ered a secret hoard of sugar in one of

the nursery-drawers, with which her
boy had evidently been coaxed and
bribed, and which accounted for his
pallor and loss of appetite. So she
was forced to doubt her late handmaid
in more ways than one.

She met Mrs. Gregory that same
afternoon at Stewart’s, and imagined
that she was purposely avoided. Yet
weeks went by, and her last call in
Twentieth Street was still unreturned-

“You have not seen Jane latele
have you i ” said a mutual friend,wl109
worsted-work in hand, was passing 1‘
sociable evening.

“ N o,” returned Mrs. Cooper, coldly,
hoping in her heart the subject miglIt
be dropped.

“If you won’t be vexed, I’ll tell you
the reason ; now promise.”

“I’ll promise for her,” said her
husband.

Mrs. Cooper had devoutly trusted 11:9 ‘

was safe in the depths of “John Hill"
fax Gentleman,” when the convem‘
tion began; but, suspecting what W”
to follow, he laid down the volume
with wonderful alacrity. ‘
“ Why, that pretty girl you used
have here -— what washer name i ”
“Lucy,” Mrs. Cooper was forced w
say.
“ Well, she ’s been telling Jane th‘
most unaccountable stories—she Went
to her, you know, from here— am”
you and Mr. Coopier. Yes, indefidyyqzlI
ad your share, r. Cooper. She “,2
you ke t back her wages, and 3"
charge ‘her on a moment’s notice-

“Half and half,” said Mr. CW’ .

 

 

¢

 

THE DYING. 119

laughing. “The last is all correct. I
have Allen for witness that I paid her
Wa‘ges though.”

‘But wh '
me ? ” at did she say about
I,“ Yes, let ’5 have it all, Miss Lizzie,
I’ll share the compliments, Martha;

In not at all greedy.”

.“Ohl that you talked over people
:Vhttll your servants, and said hard

ings of them 3 7’

::110\y’s that, Martha? ”

I did say Mrs. Miller ought to
lave let her go to church,” said the
00l‘l‘SCJOus-stricken Mrs. Cooper. .
she plrs. Miller? \Vliy,you know how

“ (3ft there, do n’t you? ”
“ \vesl she told me; she was sick.”
refill/fry. .So sick that Mrs. Miller
el -iU to give her a character, for
get"; "g herself accidentally to Geor-
collarPap-spoon and a Itrcneh worked
er b t lat were found in her trunk.
pened rother, Henry \ andeiwort, hap-
and Auto ttelll me at the time. He
Ways.” er ( me there on Sundays al-
‘5 l
therflgrrible. woman, to have her bro-
r  me With heron Sunday l” said
‘: Tamper, glancing at his wife.
char .1 0y found outishe never went to
s e z:Iltwlnle she lived there. though
ways made a pomt of starting.
lgegect little piece of deception : and
told h Jane so when she said Lucy
80 wet that you neglected Johnnie.
about ésldeterunned you should know
aveolt, for really it’s dreadful tol
“ch fine 8 character at the mercy 01
person.”
'l'i Cooper, with remarkable self-
80. f , forbore .to say, “I told you
But hphen their visitor had departed.
r8. Gsrwn'e never‘saw'Mrs. Miller. or
an oldelelgory again without having
u with 1 precept called Ito mmds
81m“ bw rat Judgment ye Judge, )’0
measur 6 Judged;' and, With what
“red ‘09 ye mete it shall be meas‘
you again.”

\M

I .
“fights sound Policy to suffer all ex-
les miller than do a base action.

deni
)

   

THE DYING.
BY M. A. turner.
LAY her down, for she must die,
She hath wrought so wearily —
how her soul may rest fOr aye.

Smooth the tresses on that brow —
Never glistcned they as now,
When upon them bright tears flow.

Close the eyes, and fold the hands
()‘er the heart; where hidden brands —-‘
Brands of woe —- have burnt life’s bands.

Robe her in the grave‘s white dress -—
Raiment of rare loveliness,

()nly robe of perfect grace.

Now around the sleeper’s head,
Scatter snowy flowers, and shed

No more tears above the dead.

Gone to realms of perfect peace,

Where all griefs forever cease —

Where from sin shc hath release.

Ile hath given his loved one sleep,

Where bright life-streams sparkling leap —

Where the Shepherd folds his Sheep.
BUFFALO, Felt, 1857.

 

 

LITTLE CHILDREN.

SPEAK gently to the little child,
So guilt-less and so free,

Who, with a trustfnl, loving heart
l’uts confidence in thee.

Speak not with cold and careless thoughts,
Which time hath taught thee well,

Nor breathe one word whose bitter tone
Distrust might seem to tell.

If on his brow there rests a cloud,
Ilowever light it be,

Speak loving.r words, and let him feel
Ilc hath a friend in thee:

And do not send him from thy side,
Till on his face shall rest

The joyous look, the sunny smile,
That mark a happy breast.

0h ! teach him this should be his aim,
To cheer the aching heart,

To strive where thickest darkness reigns.
Some radiance to impart;

To spread a peaceful quiet calm
Where dwells the noise of strife ;

Thus doing good and blessing all,
To spend the whole of life.

To love with pure affection deep
All Creatures great and small,
And yet a stronger love to bear '
For Him who made them all.
Remember, ’t is no common task
That thus to thee is given, \
To rear a spirit fit to be
The inhabitant of heaven.

 

  

 

120

HINTS ON THE MANAGEMENT
OF THE YOUNG.

NTICII’ATE and prevent fretful-

ness and ill temper, by keeping
the child in good health, ease and
comfort. Never quiet with giving to
eat, or by bribery in any way, still less
by opiates.

For the first few months, avoid loud
and harsh sounds in the hearing of
children, or violent lights in their
sight; address them in soft tones; do
nothing to frighten them; and never
jerk or roughly handle them. I

Avoid angry words and violence
both to a child, and in its presence,
by which means a naturally violent
child will be trained to gentleness.
Moderate any propensity of a child
such as anger,'greediness for food,
cunning, &c., which appears too ac-
tive. Show him no example of these.
Let the mother he, and let her select
servants such as she wishes her child
to be. The youngest child is affected
by the conduct of those in whose arms
he lives. Cultivate and express benev-
olence and cheerfulness; in such an
atmosphere a child must become be-
nevolent and cheerful.

Let a mother feel as she ought, and
she will look as she feels. Much of a
child’s earliest moral training is by
looks and jestures. When necessary,
exhibit firmness and authority, always
with perfect tern er, composure and
self-possession. I‘lbver give the child
that which it cries for; and avoid
being too ready in answering chil-
dren s demands, else they become im-
patient of refusal, and selfish. When
the child is most violent, the mother
should be most calm and silent, Out-
screaming a screaming child is as use-
less as it is mischievous. Steady denial
of the object screamed for is the best
cure for screaming. In such contests
witnesses should withdraw, and leave
mother and child alone. A child is

very ready to look around, and attract
the aid of foreign sympathy in in lime
rebellions. . .

Never promise to 8,“ when the

HINTS ON THE MANAGEMENT OF THE YOUNG.

 

 

child leaves off crying; let the crying
be the reason for not. giving. Con—
stant warning, reproofs, threats and
entreaties, as let that alone, be quiet,
how naughty you are, &c., all uttered
in haste and irritation are most perni-
cious. No fixed or definite moral im-
provement, but the reverse, results from
this too common practice. Watch de-
structiveness shown in fly and insect
killing, and smashing and breaking,
quarreling and striking! Never env
courage revenge, Never allow a child
to witness the killing ofanimals. Coun-
terwork secretiveness by exposing its
manoeuvres. Regulate notions of prop—
ert —one‘s own and another’s. Never
strike a child or teach it to strikefagain.
Never tell a child to beat or threaten
any animal 0r object.—— Chambers.

SOCIETY.

ERIIAPS the interests of true friend-
ship, elegant conversation, menta
improvement, social pleasure, natural‘
duty, and conjugal comfort, never re'
ceived such a blow as when Fashiou
issued out that arbitrary and uuiversa
decree, that every body must be- 06‘
quainled with every body; together
with that consequent authoritative, but
rather inconvenient clause, that every
body must go everywhere every night-
The implicit and devout obedienc‘
paid to this law is incompatible Wit
the very being of friendship; for as th‘"
circleof acquaintance expands, and 1‘
will be continually expanding, the 3f'
fections will be beaten out into 8110
thin lamina as to leave little solidity.
remaining. The heart, which is con'
tinually exhausting itself in profession“?
grows cold and hard. The feelingflo
kindness diminish in proportion as ‘ °
expression of it becomes more than”
and indiscriminate. The very “2309.
of simplicity and Godly sincerity In P
delicate female wear away im ercOPu‘ .
bly by constant collision with t 6 World
at large. And perhaps no woman ta 9'
so little interest in the happiness of h”
real friends as she whose affection! 3”

 

 

 

,_ . . ’ x , . I ‘ “

  

SOCIETY.

121

 

 

Incessantly evaporating in universal
cmlities, as she who is saving fond
apd flattering things at random to a
circle of five hundred people every
'nlght.

AND LITERATURE.

The time nightly expended in late
female vigils is expended by the light
of far other lamps than those which
are.fed by the student’s oil; and if

milies are to be found who are neg-
lefned, through too much study in the
mistress, it will probably be proved to

0er and not Homer, who has thus
robbed her children of her time and

ections. For one family which has
Lefnbneglected by the mother’s passion
B 00h, an hundred have been de-
eTtGd through her passion for play.
'1? husband of a fashionable woman

1 not often find that the library is
in9 apartment the expenses of which

vOlve him in debt or disgrace.
noAud for one literary slattern who

“7 manifests her indifference to her
atllgband by neglect of her person, there
ruinsflol'es of elegant spendthritts who

ieirs by excess of decoration.
aYsI digress a little while I remark

:tfi am far from asserting that litera-
‘nde as never filled women with vanity
0 Mose” conceit; the contrary is too
0 "‘1‘3. arid it happens in this as iii
‘picuomses that a few characters con-

. mnsly absurd have served to bring
use” 61 order into ridicule. But I W!”
he s! that iii general those whom books
gener‘l’llilosed to havespoded, would in

e : ave been spoded witliOuttliein.

as ‘ 10 Is a vain pedant, because she

head much, has probably that de-

"‘ her mind which would have

not,fi’nher a vain fool if she had read
. g-

buh '3 "0t her having more knowledge.

Grab?“ sense, which makes her insuf—

9;. and ignorance would have

:td llittle to her value, for it is 11013

g 0516 has, but what she wants, that
ever " 6" unpleasant. The triitliihow'
uldé probably lies here, that wblle llel‘

"landing was improved, the tem-
beart were neglected, and

pen of her

 

that in cultivating the fame ofa savante
she lost the humility of a Christian.
But these instances, too, furnish only a
fresh argument for the general cultiva-
tion of the female mind.

The wider diffusion of sound knowl-
edge would remove that temptation to
be yain which may be united by its
rarity.

From the union of an unfurnished
mind with a cold heart, there results
a kind of necessity for dissipation.
The very term gives an idea of mental
iiiihecility. That which a working
and fatigued mind requires is relaxa-
tion; it requires to unbend itself; to
slacken its efforts, to relieve it from
its exertions; while amusement is the
business of public minds, and is carried
on with a length and seriousness in-
compatible with the refreshing idea of
relaxation. But while we would assert
that a woman of cultivated intellect is
not driven by the same necessity as
others into the giddy whirl of public
resort, who but regrets that real culti—
vation does not inevitably preserve her
from M No wonder that iiiaiiity of
character—that vanity of mind—that
torpid ignorance—should plunge into
dissipation as their natural refuge;
should seek to bury their insignificanee
in the crowd of pressing multitudes,
and hope to escape analysis and detec-
tion in the uudistinguished mass of
mixm'l assemblies.

There attrition rubs all bodies smooth
and makes all alike! thither superficial
and external accomplishments natural-
lv fly as to their proper scene of action;
as to a field where competition in such

erfections is in perpetual exercise;
where the laurels of admiration are to
be won ; whence the trophies of vanity
may be carried off triumphantly.—
Hannah More.

#‘—

Tim true motives of our actions,lik0
the real pipes of an organ, are usually
concealed. But the gilded and the
hollow pretext is pompoust p‘l'ed m
the front for show.

  

 

    

122

KANE’S ARCTIC EXPLORATIONS.

7 HR means necessary for making a
second voyage to the Arctic re-
gions were furnished by Mr. (lrinnell,
our countryman, Mr. Peabody of Lon-
don, the Geographical Society of New
York, the Smithsonian Institution, the
American 17’hilosophical Society, and
other friends and Scientific associations.
Mr. Griunell again furnished the Ad-
vance,a hermaphrodite brig of onehun-
dred and forty-four tons, the same
vessel in which Dr. Kane had made
his revious voyage under Lieutenant
De Iaven. Her crew when she left
New York consisted only of seventeen
men, including ofiicers, ten of whom
were volunteers from the U. S. Navy.
The regulations ’of the crew were sim-
ple, but all that were necessary, and
were rigidly adhered to throughout
their long and dangerous voyage.
These included, first, absolute subor-
dination to the ofliccr in command, or
his delegate; second, abstinence from
all intoxicating liquors, except when
dispensed, by special order; third, the
habitual disuse of profane language.
The plan of search as delineated by
Dr. Kane previous to sailing, was based
upon the probable extension of Green-
land to the far north, believing that
the search for the lost party would
be more likely to terminate success-
fully by following the western coast of
Greenland to the Open sea,the exist-
_ence of which had been inferred, and
that progress to the west could be
made as easily front northern Green-
land as from Wellington channel.
' The outfit was simple enough, and
In some respects sadly deficient as the
events of the voyage proved; but, it
was as ample as the means in the
hands of Dr. Kane would admit.
They consisted of a few rough boards
to serve for housing over the brig in
winter, and some canvas and 1min
rubber tents, with a number of care-
fully built sledges. Their provisions
consisted of two thousand pounds of
‘pemmican, a quantity of Borden’s
meat-biscuit,dr10d potatoes, pickled

KANE‘S ARCTIC EXPLORATIONS.

 

 

cabbage, and dried fruits, with salt
beef and pork, hard biscuit and flour;
a valuable set of instruments for ob-
servation, and a well chosen library
were added.

Dr. Kane sailed from New York
May 30th, 1853, escorted by steamers
to the narrows. He and his compan‘
ions took their departure amidst the
cheers and salutes of their friends.

In eighteen days they arrived at
St. John’s, Newfoundland, and were re‘
ceived by the authorities very cordi-
ally. A quantity of fresh provisions
were added to their stock, and a team
of ten noble dogs, for the purpose 0
sledge travel, the gift of Governor
Hamilton. Stopping only two days
at this island, they again put to sea:
shaped their course for Greenland, and
on the 1st of July entered the harbor
of Fiskernaes, amidst the greeting 0
the whole population from the suf’
rounding rocks. Here l)r. Kane took '
in a supply of such provisions as the
place atl'orded, chiefly fish; and that
his dogs might be well supplied wit
fresh meat and fish, hired a youfig
quuimaux hunter—Hans Cristian
was his name, and is as great a few!"
ite with the reader as he was with Dr-
Kane and his men. Hans stipulat
in addition to his very modemt0
wages, that a couple of barrels 0
bread and fifty-two pounds of p07
should be left with his mother, m
which was added a rifle and a 119'
kayak.

Directing their course northward,
and occasionally touching along “9
Greenland coast to supply themsele

'with furs and Esqnitnaux dog‘s.

meet the future exigencies of the f0),

age, without meeting with any "1""
dent of unusual interest, until July
29th, when, after eight hours of h“
labor they made fast to an icebérg'
when Dr. Kane says: . n
“We had hardly a breatlung 59° ’f
before we were startled by 8 5"" 0
loud crackling sounds above Us; “ 0
small fragments of ice not larger ill?

a walnut began to dot the water I
the first drops of a summer sho‘v0

 

 

 

KANE‘S ARCTIC EXPLORATIONS.

g

123

___,________———————-

 

The indications were too plain: we
had barely time to cast off before the
face of the berg fell in ruins, crashing
like near artillery.

“ Our position in the mean time had
been critical, a gale blowing off the
Shore, and the fines closing and send-
ding rapidly. \Ve lost some three
'undred and sixtv fatlioms of whale
me. which were caught in the floes,
and had to be cut away to release us
from the drift. It was'a hard night
(if boatwork, particularly with those
a the party who were taking their
Tst lessons in floe navigation.”

£18 Yoontinues :
of . 6 passed the ‘Crimson Clifl's’

Sir John Ross in the foreiioon of
[Signet 5th. The patches of red snow,
could :lllcll they derive their name,
ten _le seen clearly at the distance of
ne 311 es from the coast. It‘liad a
row 68p rose line, not at'all like the
Wag ln stain which I noticed when I
raginlere before. All the gorges and
Were 0‘8 in which the snows had lodged
mic (leeply tinted Witli_it. I had no
w at“ ‘3’ now in Justifying the'some-
Oh“ EOGticn'l nomenclaturewliicli‘Sir
Or if ranklin applied to this lOcality;
i u the snowy surface were .more
Massed, as it is, no doubt, earlier in the
in" “a crimson would be the prevail-

s‘color.
Rodgaitel at night we passed Conical
nous?! e most insulated and conspic-
.ater 3"“‘(7llllal'k of this coast; and, still
gansd olstenliolme and Saunder's
t 0 t?» and Oomenak, the place of the
r l Star‘s’ winter quarters—an

ad '
. 5t mirable day‘s run; and so ends the

aim) of yfhugust. 'We are standing
opengkvnith studding sails set, and
Scene Gift?" before us, fast nearing our
0 Work‘ “her. We have already got
“edges feewmg up bags and preparing
ice.” 0" Oul' campaignings 0n the

f.“f~'“st 7th he writes:
deepo." 0}" left is a capacious bay ; and
can gem “3 north-eastern recesses we
we 8 a glacier issuing from a hord.’
Ward new this bay familiarly after-
, as the residence of 8 body of

 

Esquimaux with whom we had many
assOciations; but we little dreamt
then that it would hear the name of a
gallant friend, who found there the
first traces of our escape. A small
cluster of rocks, hidden at times by the
sea, gave evidence of the violent tidal
action about them.

“‘ As we neared the west end of Lit-
tleton Island, after breakfast this morn~
ing, I ascended to the crew’s-nest, and
saw to my sorrow the ominous blink
of ice ahead. The wind has been
fi'esliening for a couple of days from
the northward, and if it continues it
will bring down the floes on us.

‘ “ My mind has been made up from
the first that we are to force our way
to the north as far as the elements will
let us; and l feel the importance
therefore of securing a place of retreat,
that in case of disaster we may not be
altogether at large. Besides, we have
now reached one of the points, at
which, if any one is to follow us, he
might look for some trace to guide
him.’

“I determined to leave a cairn on
Littleton Island, and to deposit a boat
with a supply of stores in some conve-
nient place near it. One of our whale-
boats had been crushed in Melville
Bay, and Francis‘s metallic life-boat
was the only one I could spare. Its
length did not exceed twenty feet, and
our crew of twenty could hardly stow
themselves in it with even a few days‘
rations; but it was air-chambered and
buoyant.

u.Selecting from our stock of pro-
visions and field equipage such por-
tions as we might by good luck be able
to dispense with, and adding with re-
luctant liberality some blankets and a
few yards of India-rubber cloth, we
set out in search of a spot for our first
depot. It was essential that it should
be upon the mainland; for the rapid
tides might so wear away the ice as to
make an island inaccessible to a foot-
party', and yet it was desirable that.
while secure against the action of sea
and ice, it should be‘approachable‘ by
boats. We found such a place after

   

 

 

124

KANE’S ARCTIC EXPLORATION 8.

 

some pretty cold rowing. It was 03‘
the northeast cape of Littleton, and
bore S.S.E. from Cape Hatherton,
which loomed in the distance above
the fog. Here we buried our life-boat
with her little cargo. We placed
along her gunwale the heaviest rocks
we could handle, and, filling up the
interstices with stones and sods of an-
dromeda and moss, poured sand and
water among“ the layers. This, frozen
at once into a solid mass, might be
hard enough, we hoped, to resist the
claws of the polar bear.

“ 'We found to our surprise, that we
were not the first human beings who
had sought a shelter in this desolate
spot. A few ruined walls here and
there showed that it had once been
the seat of a rude settlement; and in
the little knoll which we cleared away
to cover in our storehouse of valuables
we found the mortal remains of their
former inhabitants. '

“Nothing can be imagined more sad
and homeless than these memorials of
extinct life. IIardlya vestige ofgrowth
was traceable on the bare ice~rubbcd
racks; and the huts resembled so much
the broken fragments that surrounded
them, that at first sight it was hard to
distinguish one from the other. W'al-
rus bones lay about in all directions,
showing that this animal had furnished
the staple of subsistence. There were
some remains too of the fox and the
narwhal ; but I found no signs of the
seal or reindeer.

“These Esquimaux have no mother
earth to receive their dead ; but they
seat them as in the attitude of repose,
the knees drawn close to the body, and
enclose them in a sack of skins. The
implements of the living man are then
grouped around him; they are covered
With a rude dOme of stones, and a
calm is piled above. This simple cen-
otaph will remain intact for generation
after generation. The ESquimaux never
disturb a grave.

“ From one of the graves I took sev-
eral perforated and rudely-fashioned
pieces of walrus ivory, evidently parts
of sledge and lance gear. But wood

 

 

must have been even more scarce with
them than with the natives of Baflin’s
Bay north of the Melville glacier. We
found, for instance, a child’s toy
spear, which, though elaborately tipped
with ivory, had its wooden handle
pieced out of four separate bits, all
carefully patched and bound with skin.
No piece was more than six inches
in length, or half an inch in thick-
ness. ~

“ We found other traces of Esqui-
maux, both on Littleton Island and in
Shoal-Water Cove, near it. They con-
sisted of huts, graves, places of deposit
for meat, and rocks arranged as fox-
traps. These were evidently very an-
cient ; but they were so well preserved,
that it was impossible to say how long
they had been abandoned, whether for
fifty or a hundred years before.

“Our stores deposited, it was 00"
next oflice to erect a beacon, and in'
trust to it our tidings. We chose for
this purpose the Western Cape of Lil‘
tleton Island, as more conspicuouB
than Cape Hatherton ; built our cairn;
wedged a staff into the crevices of the
rocks; and, spreading flag, hailed 1“
folds with three cheers as they GX‘

'panded in the cold midnight breeze-
I

‘

hese important duties performedyf

the more lightly, let me say, for th" -

little flicker of enthusiasm,—— we '1'9‘
joined the brig early in the morning
of the 7th, and forced on again fo‘
ward the north, beating against WI”
and tide.”

Of the dogs he had procured for
sledge-traveling, he says:

“ More bother with~ these wretcbed ‘

dogs; worse than a street of Constan'
tinople emptied upon our decks; the,
unruly, thieving, wild-beast .
Not a bear’s paw, or an Esqulm“

cranium, or basket of mosses, or any;
specimen whatever, can leave yo?

hands for a moment without ill?"
making a rush at it, and, after a .V" F
ing scramble, swallowing it at 8 Eng
I have seen them attempt a who ‘
feather bed; and here, this very morn
ing, one of my Karsuk bruteshas 03“

up two entire birds‘-uests which I

pack . ,

 

 

-x

 

       

 

  

¥

Just before gathered from the rocks;
fwithers, filth, pebbles, and moss,—a
Peckful at the least. One was a per-
fect specimen of the nest of the tridao-
tyl, the other of the big burgomaster.
“ When we reach a floe, or berg, or
temporary harbor, they start out in a
, d)‘. neither voice nor lash restrain-
"!g them, and scamper 03' like adrove
of 1103’s in an Illinois oak-opening.
_“‘0 Of our largest left themselves be-
lllnd at Fog Inlet, and we had to send
{it}. a lmat-party today to their rescue.
tcost a pull through ice and water of
film“ eight miles before they found
“:9 recreants, fat and saucy, beside
e carcass of the dead narwhal. Af-
ter more than an hour spent in at-
m'gl’ts to catch them, one was tied
m, . rought on board; but the other
{Heldal scamp had to be left to his
ate.”
angi)‘lll'lng the latter part of August
cumi- Ie first of September, as the difli-
of t{38 of the voyage increased, most
turn-l8 company were in favor of ,re-
wimmg southward, and glvmg up a
of search. After a consultation,
cf- hane fitted up a whale-boat for a
a 3‘33? among the ice, and set off with
Portion of the crew to reconnoiter
86:” position. After an absence'of
Colleiél days he found. a bay which
win‘t "led all the requisrtes ot a good
is 01’ harbor for the Advance. Of
“return to the ship he says: .
"0“ Y Comrades gathered anxrously
told "1“ me, waiting for the news. I
0 0 “(gm m few words of the results
mingldl‘ Journey, and why I had deter-
0nce thupon remaining, and gave at
island 8 order to warp "1 between the
mu as. W 9 found here sevenvlathom
he“ lugs and a perfect shelter from
0 outside ice; and thuslaid our ht-
telllg m the harbor, which we were
“as never to leave together,— a long
"lg‘Place to her indeed, for the
me Ice is around her still.”
“epiemlber 10th, he writes: .b]
8 ave lent' of res 01181 e
:fifk before nap This long ‘iiight in
“’h 90 man can work’ is close at
“d: In another month we shall lose

KANE'S ARCTIC EXPLORATIONS.

 

the sun. Astronomically, he should
disappear on the twenty-fourth of 00-
tober if our horizon were free; but it
is obstructed by a mountain ridge,
and, making all allowance for refrac-
tion, we can not count on seeing him
after the 10th.

“ First and foremost, we have to un-
stow the hold, and deposit its contents
in the storehouse on Butler Island.
Brooks and a party are now briskly
engaged in this double labor, running
loaded boats along a canal that has
to be recut every morning.

“ Next comes the catering for winter
diet. We have little or no game as
yet in Smith’s Sound ; and, though the
traces of deer that we have observed
may be followed by the animals them-
selves, 1 can not calculate upon them
as a resource. I am without the her-
metically-sealed meats of our last voy-
age; and the use of salt meat in
circumstances like ours is never safe.
A fresh—water pond, which fortunately
remains open at Medary, gives me a
chance for some further experiments
in freshening this portion of our stock.
Steaks of salt junk, artistically cut, are
strung on lines like a countrywoman’s
dried apples, and soaked in festoons
under the ice. The salmon-trout and
salt codtish which we bought at Fisk-
ernaes are placed in barrels, perforated
to permit a constant circulation of
fresh water through them. Our pick-
led cabbage is similarly treated, after
a little potash has been used to neu-
tralize the acid. All these are sub-
mitted to twelve hours of alternate
soaking and freezing, the crust of ice
being removed from them before each
immersion. This is the stewards prov-
ince, and a most important one it is.

“Every one else is well employed ;
McGary arranging and Bonsall making
the inventory of our stores; Ohlsen
and Petersen building our deck-house;
while I am devising the plan of an ar-
chitectural interior, which is to com-
bine, of course, the utmost ventilation,
room, dryness, warmth, general 30'
commodation, comfort,-—- In a W a
all the appliances of health.

 

 

126

“ We have made a comfortable dog-
house on Butler Island; but though
our Esquiinaux canaz'lle are within
scent of our cheeses there, one of
which they ate yesterday for lunch,
they can not be persuaded to sleep
away from the vessel. They prefer
the bare snow, where they can couch
within the s0und of our voices, to a
warm kennel upon the rocks. Strange
that this dog-distinguishing trait of af-
fection for man should show itself in
an animal so imperfectly reclaimed
from a savage state that he can hardly
be caught when wanted I ”

“ September 1 3.-—‘ Besides preparing
our winter quarters, I am engaged in
the preliminary arrangements for my
provision-depots along the Greenland
coast. Mr. Kennedy is, I believe, the
only one of my predecessors who has
used October and November for Arctic
field-work; butI deem it important to
our movements during the winter and
spring, that the depots in advance
snould be made before the darkness
sets in. I purpose arranging three of
them at intervals,-—pushing them as
far as I can,—to contain in all some
twelve hundred pounds of provision, of
which eight hundred will be pemmi-
can.’

“My plans of future search were
directly dependent upon the success of
. these Operations of the fall. With a
chain of provision-depots along the
coast of Greenland, I could readily ex-
tend my travel by dogs. These noble
animals formed the basis of my future
plans: the only drawback to their effi-
ciency as a means of travel was their
inability to carry the heavy loads of
provender essential for their support.
A badly-fed or heavily-loaded dog is
useless for a long journey; but with
relays of provisions I could start empty,
and fill up at our final station.

“My dogs were both Esquimaux
and Newfoundlanders. 'Of these last
[had ten: they were to be carefully
broken, to travel by voice without the
whi , and were expected to be ver
usetiil for heavy draught, as their
tractability would allow the driver to

KANE‘S ARCTIC EXPLORATIONS.

 

 

#4

regulate their pace. I was already train-
ing them in a light sledge, to drive,
unlike the Esquimaux, two abreast,
with a regular harness, a breast-collar
of flat leather, and a pair of traces.
Six of them made a powerful travel-
ing-team; and four could carry me
and my instruments, for short journeys
around the brig, with great case.”

They reared an observatory near the
ship, and sent out their depot parties
to make caches, of provisions. These
caches were buried in the snow, and
covered with sand and gravel—the
whole being drenched with water and
frozen solid, so as to resist the depl'fi'
dations of the polar bear; but the“
efforts to do this were useless, for they
found in the spring that the bears had
helped themselves to all these stores
of provisions. The long and dreade
night of the Arctic winter came rapidli
upon them, and its effect upon bot
men and dogs were disastrous in th°
extreme. Raw potato grated was the
inviting fresh food prescribed for sell!“
vy, but some of the crew refused lt
absolutely.

“The month of March brought bR'Ck
to us the perpetual day. The sunshme
had reached our deck on the last day
of February : we needed it to cheer “9'
We were not as pale as my experience
in Lancaster Sound had foretold ; but
the scurvy-spots that mottled our face'
gave. sore proof of the trials we ha
undergone. It was plain that we were
all of us unfit for arduous travel 0“
foot at the intense temperatures 0 the
nominal spring; and the return of “‘9
sun, by increasing the evaporation from
the floes, threatened us with a 1‘80""
rence of still severer weather.

“But I felt that our work was 1"”
finished. The great object 0f the
expedition challenged us to a "10":
northward exploration. My dog-ail,“
I had counted on so largely, the 11"”

splendid Newfoundlanders and film"?
five Esquimaux of six month .
had perished; there were only six 6 f
vivors of the whole pack, and 009 ° '
these was unfit for draught.
they formed my principal reliance,

s before:
111"

Still,
83

 

 

 

KANE‘S ARCTIC EXPLORATIONS.

¥

I.busied myself from the very begin-
"ng of the month in training them to
run together.”

Near the middle of March a depot
Party was sent out, and the suffering
they encountered before their return
was {Dore severe than anything else
eXperienced during the whole VOyage.

h: following is the account of it:
in VS e were at work cheerfully, sew-
,g away at the skins of some mocca-
sms by the blaze of our lamps, when

Ward midnight, we heard the noise

l"teps above, and the next minute

mag. Ohlsen, and Petersen came
"1‘": into the cabin. Their manner
ex 't ed me even more than their un-
w Pected appearance on board. They

"6 swollen and hagaard, and hardly
a 1" to speak. D

‘ heir story was a fearful one.
iceey'had left their companions in the

i x‘lskmg their own lives to bring us

i8 news: Brooks, Baker, Wilson, and

em: were lying frozen and disabled.
978.? They could not tell: some-
noéi'le "1 among the huminocks to the
"mud and east; it was drifting heavily
To“) hthem when they arted. Irish
fol. th ad stayed by to eed and care
acre] 9 Others: but the chances were
.Y against them. It was in vain

.guestion them further. They had

I ("my traveled a. great distance, for
bu?" Were sinking with fatigue and
enobe", and could hardly be rallied

ugh to tell us the direction in which

a? had come.
the .y first impulse was to move on
an instant With an unencumbered

o y 9 a rescue, to be efiective or even

Pefuh could not be too prompt.
"he? Pressed on my mind most was,
or as the sufferers were to be looked

’ m0" the drifts. Ohlsen seemed
“cm?” is faculties rather more at

Ounrnd than his associates, and I

i 8.“ that he might assist us as a
hang?» but he_ was sinking. With 6X-
unruly“: and If he went With us we

’8I'ry him.

“
l0st. Ther°,was not one moment to .be
the. Me some were still busy With

new“comers and getting ready 3

 

127

hasty meal, others were rigging out
the “Little Willie” with a buffalo-
cover, a small tent, and a package of
pemmican; and, as soon as we could
hurry through our arrangements, Ohl-
sen was strapped on in a fur bag, his
legs wrapped in dog-skins and eider-
down, and we were off upon the ice.
Our party consisted of nine and myself.
\Ve carried only the clothes on our
backs. The thermometer stood at
forty-six degrees, seventy-eight degrees
below the freezing point.

“A well-known peculiar tower of
ice, called by the men the “Pinnacle
Berg,” served as our first landmark;
other icebergs of colossal size, which
stretched in long beaded lines across
the bay, helped to guide us afterward;
and it was not until we had traveled
for sixteen hours that we began to lose
our way.

“We knew that our lost companions
must be somewhere in the area before
us, within a radius of forty miles. Mr.
Ohlsen, who had been for fifty hours
without rest, fell asleep as soon as we
began to move, and awoke now with
unequivocal signs of mental disturb-
ance. It became evident that he had
lost the bearing of the icebergs, which
in form and color endlessly repeated
themselves; and the uniformity of the
vast field of snow utterly forbade the
hope of local landmarks.

“Pushing ahead of the party, and
clambering over some rugged ice-piles,
I came to a long level floe, which I
thought might probably have attracted
the eyes of weary men in circumstances
like our own. It was a light conjec-
ture; but it was enough to turn the
scale, for there was no other to balance
it. I gave orders to abandon the
sledge, and disperse'in search of foot-
marks. We raised our tent, placed
our pemmican in cache, except a small
allowance for each man to carry on his
person; and poor Ohlsen, now just
able to keep his legs, was libers
from his bag. The thermometer It‘d
fallen by this time to forty-nine d9-
grees, and the wind Was setting In
sharply from the northwest. It Wu

 

 

out of the question to halt: it required
brisk exercise to keep us from freezing.
I could not even melt ice for water;
and, at these temperatures, any resort
to snow for the purpose of allaying
thirst was followed by bloody lips and
tongue : it burnt like caustic. '

“It was indispensable then that we
should move on, looking out for traces
as we went. Yet when the men were
ordered to spread themselves, so as to
multiply their chances, though they all
obeyed heartily, some painful impress
of solitary danger, or perhaps it may
have been the varying configuration of
the ice-field, kept them closing up con-
tinually into a single group. The
strange manner in which some of us
were affected I now attribute as much
to shattered nerves as to the direct in-
fluence of the cold. Men like Me
Gary and Bonsall, who had stood out
our severest marches,-were seized with
trembling-fits and short breath; and,
in spite of all my efforts to keep up an
example of sound hearing, I fainted
twice on the snow.

“ We had been nearly eighteen hours
out without water or food, when a new
hope cheered us. I think it was Hans,
our Esquimaux hunter, who thought
he saw a broad sledge-track. The
drift had nearly elfaced it, and we
were some of us doubtful at first
Whether it was not one of those acci-
dental rifts which the gales make in
the surface-snow. But, as we traced
it on to the deep snow among the
hammocks, we were led to footsteps;
and, following these with religious care,
we at last came in sight of a small
American flag fluttering from a ham-
mOCk» “Dd lower down a little Masonic
banner hanging from atent-pole above
the drift. It was the camp of our dis.
abled comrades: we reached it after
an unbroken march of twenty-one
hours.

“ The little tent was neatly covered,
I was not among the first to come up;
but, when I reached the tent-curtain,
the men were standing in silent file
upon each side of it. With more
kindness and delicacy of feeling than

 

 

KANE’S ARCTIC EXPLORATION S.

is often supposed to belong to sailors,
but which is almost characteristic, they
intimated their wish thatI should go in
alone. As Icrawled in, and, coming
upon the darkness, heard before me the
burst of welcome gladness that came
from the four poor fellows stretched
on their backs, and then for the first
time the cheer outside, my weakness
and my gratitude together almost over—
came me. ‘They had expected'mei
they were sure I would come 1’

“We were now fifteen souls; the
thermometer seventy-five degrees be—
low the freezing-point; and our sole
accommodation a tent barely able 10,
contain eight persons: more than half
our party were obliged to keep from
freezing by walking outside while the
others slept. We could not halt long-
Each of us took a turn of two hours,
sleep; and we prepared for our honle‘
ward march.

“ \Ve took with us nothing but “10
tent, furs to protect the rescued parth
and food for a journey of fifty holll's‘
Every thing else was abandoned. TWO
large buffalo-bags, each made of f0!"
skins, were doubled up, so as to form
a sort of sack, lined on each side by
fur, closed at the bottom but opene r
at the top. This was laid on t°
sledge; the tent, smoothly folded:
serving as a floor. The sick, With
their limbs sewed up carefully ‘3
reindeer-skins, were placed upon  a
bed of buffalo-robes, in a immecnnms
posture; other skins and blénket-bag’ I
were thrown above them; and t9
whole litter was lashed together 80f“
to allow but a single opening opPOS‘
the mouth for breathing.

“This necessary work cost 119 ,5
great deal of time and effort; but “'0
was essential to the lives of the suffer
ers. It took us no less than four hour“
to strip and refresh them, and then
embale them in the manner I hajie de;
scribed. Few of us escaped without
frost-bitten fingers; the thermometc
was at fifty-five degrees below 283°:
and a slight wind added to the severlt)
of the cold. .

“ It was completed at last, howeV“ '

 

 

POPULAR REFINEMENT.

3“ hands stood round; and, after re~
“Ming 3. short prayer, we set out on
0‘" retreat. It was fortunate indeed
tune were not inexperienced in
“edging over the ice. A great part
of 0111‘ track lay among a succession of
.“mmocks; some of them extending
if! long lines, fifty and twenty feet
'ghv and so uniformly steep that we
dad, to turn them by a considerable
evlatlofl from our direct course ; oth-
ers that we forced our way through,
at abOVe our heads in hight, lying in
Parallel ridges, with the space between
ezganI‘O‘r for the sledge to be low-
eno Into it safely, and yet not wide
Outugh for the runners to cross With-
T “the aid of ropes to stay them.
withefi’aces too weregenerally choked
etw lgllt snow, hiding the openings
fearfefn the ice-fragments. 'l‘hey were
of a: traps to disengage a limb from,
3 gm (Fry man knew that a fractureor
Besidam even would cost him his life.
Gav ‘38 all .tlJlS, the sledge. was top-
comdy “'lth its load ; tliemaiined men
tight not bear to be lashed down
ram" renough to secure them against
tic“ {g 0“; Notwithstanding our cau-
en n re.lecting every superfluous bur-
nt’ t 0 Weight, including bags and

u’ was eleven hundred pounds.
six hnd yet our march for the first
0”“ Was very cheering. \Ve
a mfieb)’ Vigorous pulls and lifts nearly
088 b 5;“ hour, and reached the new
“r slgdore we were absolutely weary.
y 30 sustained the trial admira-
steaipblsen, restored by hope, walked
Bed y, at the leading belt of the
‘ germ“; and I began to feel cer-
t 0 I“eaching‘ our half-way station
, ,2 day before, where we .had left
rem it?“ But we were still nine miles
"ition ’ when. almost without premo-
alarm’. “'0 _811 became aware of an

"’8 fallure of our energies.

(T0 be concluded.)

\E/
1’3 time is the most precious of
state’s: e lOss of time must bathe
f0 - .Of losses. \Vaste not time,
me“ the stuff that life is made of.

 

129

POPULAR REFINEMENT.

N the autumn of 1849, we were

Spending some six weeks in the
Peak of Derbyshire, in company with
two distinguished literary friends, when
a rapid thunder storm, which swept
across the moors, led us one afternoon
to seek the shelter of an old-fashioned
homestead. It was situated in a spot
ofsurpassiiig loveliness: the wild moors
stretched above it in the blue distance;
and below it, in the descending valley,
rich in woodlands, glided a silvery
tributary of the Trent. Around lay a
garden, not very trim, but filled to
overflowing with sweet-smelling flow-
ers, whilst beyond its boundary nature’s
lavish bounty had decked every avail-
able spot, even to the moorland’s edge,
with the eglantine, the foxglove, and
those countless other wild-flowers for
which Derbyshire has deservedly so
rich 3 fame. To adorn this scene of
beauty, a spring ofsome volume gushed
from the inoorlaiid’s side, into a vast
trough of stone, round which fell the
richest and most abundant of the
mountain flOWers. Within the home-
stead were lavish capabilities without
effects, saving that ot' coarse disorder.
The kitchen and parlor were absolute.
l crammed with antique furniture of
the finest kind : old cabinets, old dres-
sers, old chairs, filigreed and ebony
mirrors, and china bowls, cups, and
dishes that would have made half the
lovers of medimral‘and the renaissance
period of art wild for possession. In a
room up stairs, where we went to
change our dripping garments, this
cmbarras dc richesses was the same.
Carved spinning-wheels, chests, and
boxes, were varied by a corner cup-
board filled to repletion with ancient
glass and porcelain ——most of it beauti-
ful in form as well as color. Yet here,
as well as down stairs, the only result
of all this real artistic beauty was to
excite ideas of grotesque confusion.
China-bowls, which, if filled with ‘
few of the garden sweets so near at
band, would have been absolutely
gorgeous, were stuck full of old tobacco

   

 

 

 

POPULAR REFINEMENT.

 

pipes; a pile of china saucers, from
which Wedgwood would have taken
a lesson, was crowned by a red her-
ring! and long-necked bottles of Vene-
tian glass, into which the hand of
taste would have placed a lily or a
rose, were filled with the odds and
ends it would be difficult to describe.
By the way of contrast to this adven-
ture, we took tea at a country parson-
age the same Week, where, with no
such means either of individual wealth
or its accumulated accessories, the most
exquisite and simple taste prevailed.
There was no rich furniture,no gorgeous
foreign porcelain, no glass of exquisite
shape; but there were cleanliness, order,
refined taste, and a knowledge how to
use accessible and common things.
Flowers from the moorland, fields, and
garden, were exquisitely set about two
pleasant rooms —— here in a flat dish of
common earth, there in a red earth-
vase that had been bought for a shil-
ling; within a sort of alcove that
separated parlor from study, ivy had
been trained in German fashion ; from
a little clay bottle hung to the wall,
and probably dug out of a barrow on the
neighboring moors, fell long stemmed
wood-plants tinged with autumn dyes.
The tea-table was alike a pattern of
cleanliness and good taste. The tea-
service, though of no great value, had
been selected with an eye to well-
rounded forms; the metal tea-pot was
resplendent in its brightness; a bowl
filled with flowers stood with its
honeyed scents amidst hospitable dain-
ties of cake and fruit; and one simple
preparation of rice and cream was en-
cil'cled With a wreath of geranium
blooms and myrtle leaves, gathered
from the prolific bounty of the garden.
One other little matter impressed itself
greatly on our minds, and convinced
us still more effectually of the immense
worth of knowing how to use “com.
mon things.” It was a pyramid of
lovely Wild-flowers, formed by a pile of
saucers, each less than another the
whole crowned by a common galiipot_
Round each of these saucers, flowers
were wreathed in water, whilst the

 

apex cup was filled with a clustering
bunch of various colored heath. In a
long walk home that night, we quietly
thought over the causes of the strange
contrast which the difference of a few
hours had shown; and we came to the
conclusion, that wealth, or even the
possession of the constituent elements
of beauty, cannot, or do not of them-
selves, either constitute beauty, or argue
the possession of refined taste; whilst,
on the other hand, beauty, refinement,

and true taste, are as perfectly conslsir -

eat with, as they are producible from:
the simplest means.

It was buta natural deduction from
this conclusion, that it is possible for!
member of the hard-working classes to
be much more refined than they are

enerally aware of. We are not 1111‘
mindful of difficulties, but we thka

them all superable, and see them, in’ '

deed, in the course of being overcome
every day.

The point to be first regarded i5 3
physical one. Here the aristocratic slit89
of England have an advance beyOn
most others, for not only has there been
a long prior continuance of good 11th
ture, care, and cultivation, but none 3“
more alive at the present day than they
to the advantages of exercise, temper’
ance, cleanliness, and simple liVmg‘
Now, in reference to these, so far 3’
they administer to health, refinemenfi
and the moral consciousness of PM?
ty, there is nothing to prevent the"
being realized by the thrifty artisan,
more particularly if his means be ye
untrammellcd by wife or children"
True, he has no horse to ride, “0 0“"
riage to await his need, but little (Som'
parative leisure for air and exercise,an
his days may be spent for the most p3
in a close confined workshop 01‘ W5".
room ; but with his mind once dig"?ct
to the immense importance of air 9;”
exercise, in improving and preservmg

the condition of the physical orgtmiz“f '

tion, and the consequent elevation o
the tone of the moral sentiments"
will let pass no Opportunity of spell '9
portions of his holidays, and the,
fresh h0urs of the summer morning"

 

 

 

 

~\.

\g

avfay from the scene of his labor —if
this be possible. Even the artisan of
0ndon may place miles between him
and the city for the price of a pot of
ifeer on a glass of spirits. In fact,
Sufficient education, reading, and
thought be his, a lot'tiei' principle than
one Of immediate reference to health or
merewigor of limb will animate his
ynlll‘suit of physical health. Just as he
Sures his life, or saves a portion of his
wages, for the benefit of children that
{Sax-be his, so will it be his principle
fly a foundation for the healthy
odies and sound minds of his progeny,
0&8 conservation and attention to his
3 plinical well-being. Again, on
m:8111)b.)ectof cleanliness, the same case
irg’ beliis. And as for neglected hair,
excg; (yids, nails, and teeth, there is no
em: Or any man or woman, who is
e rel“ not only of self-respect, but of
Sect. Spect of others. '\Vliy is a large
. ‘0“ 0f the aristocratic class so beau-

t . . .
1211.? \Vhy is their hair so fine and
mulling. their hands and nails so beau-

perfey.tsha]jed, their teeth so white and
00nd“ 2 llie answer is found in the
childnuance of care from parent to
or; r’ and not so much iii a ditlerence
glilailly fl‘Om nature,or in the amount
hod'llflerence between the etl'ects of
' ly labor and its absence. To speak
thexior‘? Philosophical language, it is
ath of the civiliziiig process. So
mass: regards the hands, there is, no
c asg why tllousands of our working-
es: both men and women, should
Faint???) them as beautiful as those
Ieriteé by Lely and Vandyke, and in-
Sisters Y the descendants of their
the labat the present day. Much of
Prefls t101‘ of the loom, the printing-
C"; '8 ‘YOI‘hshop, and the counter,
more ably "1 lts kind; and what. is
ar i’si‘ery advance of the productiye
The pomtffwol‘ of this characteristic.
Demo“, is, therefore, simply one of
care and attention. We con

0r rzsddo not Wish to efi'eminate men,
l>111: w er wOmen a whit less useful;
alli ,2“ Preservation and care are
where hboth. beauty and self-culture;
t e Ol’Ject referred to is a gift of

(

 

 

TO MY DAUGHTER. 131*

the Divine, and conservation therefore
a duty; where it is in the nature of
human advance to lessen the physical
distinction between men,and annihilate
caste; where the gentlemen and gen-
tlewoman, of whatever degree, seek to
show conscious refinement in small
things as well as great—then the
care and preservation of the hands,
nails, hair, and teeth, become, so far
as practicable, moral duties. Nor may
ignorance he pleaded: the little man-
uals of Erasmus Wilson, Saunders, or
Clarke, give every requisite informa-
tion at the cheapest rate.

 

TO MY DAUGHTER.
BY MRS. A. c. JUDSON.

MY darling only daughter, thou bright-eyed
treasur’d one,

Fairer to me than jewels that glitter in the
sun;

A fountain deep thou’st opened within a mo-
ther’s heart,

Love, gentle, fervent, lasting, that knows no
counterpart.

Around my neck how fondly those little arms
eiitwine,

I press thee to my bosom, and joy to call thee
mine,

Mine as a gift from Heaven, ay, truly hast
thou come,

As sunshine on my pathway, to scatter clouds
of gloom.

And yet, the task .is solemn to guide thy in-
fant mind,

And mold the tender image so carefully en-
slirined,

To guard by holy teachings from earth’s cor-
rupting snare, _

That soon, if life continues, Will press thee
unawares.

I crave for thee not fortune, or flattery’s sub-
tilc smile,

Nor all those charms that dazzle a giddy
throng the while;

There’s brighter, purer pleasure, and gems
that are divine,

God grant these lasting treasures, my daugh-
ter, may be thine.

At Fashion’s truthlcss altar, 0, never may’st
thou bow,

But from such idol-worship be innocent as
now; ,

And may the Christian graces e’er thine
adorning be,

That the true noble woman, shine forth: my
child, in thee.

 

 

 

 

MIRABEAU.

 

MIRABEAU.
BY mas. o. A. HALBERT.

ROVIDENCE, who never launches
P a human soul into life without
stamping upon it a moral aim, not
only personal but for the instruction of
the race, repeats again and again the
lesson that no largeness of capacity,
generosity of nature, or nobleness of
impulse, can compensate for the ab-
sence of virtue, or form an enduring
basis of character. Such life histo-
ries as that of Mirabeau, belong not
only to statesmen and politicians, but
also to mothers, and should be stud-
ied both as guide and warning. They
should learn from them, as they look
upon their young sons, and finally
read in their unfolding the promise of
a splendid manhood, to temper hope
with fear—to accompany each fond
heart-throb with the prayer, “Let me
not bequeath 'to my country talents
without worth, greatness without vir-
tue.”

The French Revolution, which threw
into relief the darkest and brightest
shades of human nature, presents no
character of stronger development, or
more marked characteristics, than
Mirabeau. An orator, and a prince
among orators, astatesman and scholar,
a man of capacity so large, and facul-
ties so varied, that he filled all stations
with equal grace, he had, superadded,
that wonderful sorcery over human
hearts, and which is one of Heaven’s
rarest and most princely gifts. Phys-
ically, a Titan, with a voice of thun-
der, and a. face imposing and terrible,
there was yet in him that strange
blending of benignity and haughtiness,
0f grace and self-sufficiency, which at
once repels, attracts, and fascinates
mankind.

The singular incidents which at.
tended  childhood,  herculean
development of mind and body almost
from the cradle, the wrongs and suf-
ferings of his gentle and early man-
hood—all these were fit portraits of
the great part which Mirabeau was to
act in his country’s history.

 

Honor-é Gabriel Piquette Conte de
Mirabeau was born in 1749. His pa-
.ternal ancestors, the Riquelli, were an
ancient and noble family, and prided
themselves on the purity of their
blood, and a chivalrous courage which
had been tried on many a battle-field.
He inherited all the genius and cour-
age of his race, softened by the graces
of a more humane age.

The childhood of the young Gabriel
was not happy, and to the unfortunate
influences which then surrounded him
we trace many of his subsequent vices.
His father, the Marquis de Mirabeau,
entirely misconceived his character,
and ad0pted a system of government
just opposite to that which his peculiar
disposition required. The Marquis was
a man of iron will, violent temper,
andperseveringdetermination. When,
therefore,he found that the little Count
was formed after his own image, and
had a. stout will and somewhat inso-
lent way of manifesting it, he deter-
mined either to break or bend it. He
conceived that there was something
ferocious in the nature of the child —-—
he must be subdued like a tiger, by
stripes, hunger, and imprisonment.
Accordingly be commenced a most
extraordinary system of tyranny, and

pursued it year after year with inflex-,

ible determination, till the child grew
to manhood and escaped from his
grasp. After exhausting every species
of domestic discipline without making
any impression on the indomitable
spirit of his son, or abating the violence
of his temper, he sent him to a military
school for the purpose of crushing him
into submission, lettres de cachet, and
imprisonment in a lonely mountain
fortress succeeded, and served only to
cmbitter the hatred between parent
and child.

We have never read of a more bar-
barous and unnatural system of family
government than that of the Marquis
de Mirabeau; and yet he was ac-
counted by the world a pattern of all
the virtues and an universal philan-
thropist: he who wept at the name
of suffering, and would fain have

 

 

 

 

 

 

MIRABEAU.

 

133

 

embraced the whole world in his sympa-
thizing arms, diffused no warmth
around his own hearthstone, and had
no pity on his own flesh. The whole
family dwelt in ‘a constant state of
feud. » Father and mother were openly
estranged, and children marshalsd
themselves on either side, as interest or-
inclination prompted.

Bitter was the fruit of such domestic ,

training. The young Count, whose
heart would have opened to loye like
V a spring blossom —whose native no-
bleness and ' generosity no tyranny
could wholly repress, lost all his fair
proportion and Orderly development.
He became reckless of a character
which his own father was determined
to blast, and rushed into vice- without
effort at self-restraint. We will not
deny that he early developed a taste
for low and deba‘sing pleasures; but if
he became a libertine before he was a
man, does not part (if the sin lie at the
door of that home where virtue was
made to look so repulsive in his eyes?
Had lessons of purity been‘dropped
into his heart by beloved lips, had aus-
tere reproofs been softened 'by pity —
had‘ he been consoled when he erred,
and led back by gentle hands, who
knows whether he would ever have
wandered into dark and forbidden
paths, and whether the historian might
not have been spared an infamous
chapter in his history.

Mirabeau was not only profligate,
but extravagant, and this in the eyes
of the miserly old Marquis was the
greater sin. He would neither be
awed nor starved into prudence. The
small pittances which were doted out
to him with penurious hand, wOuld
scarcely cover the expenses of anight’s
Orgies. Doubtless he was a very diffi-
cult subject for domestic management,
a“C1 the most judicious system could

ope only to curb, soften, and restrain.

We can not look upon this ferma-
' tive portion of .Mirabeau's life withOut
grief and admiration as well as re-
proach.’ His faults were many, but
they were the excrescenses of a noble
nature. Endowed with every manly

,von. m. 9.

 

 

grace — ardent, impetuous, chivalrous,
self-willed, but neither obstinate nor
vindictive, with an intellect rapid and
imperious, and a soul of impassioned

sensibilities, what groundwork ‘was

there for a man! Pressed down by a
tyranny which would have soured or
deadened a less buoyant nature, his
spirit ever rose with the elasticity of
an irrepressible life. Neither the lonelv
castle of Joux, nor the dungeon wall:
of Vincennes, could cOnform the fervid
energies of his soul. While in prison
he cheered his lonely hours by com-
posing treatises on history, science, phi-
losoph y, and belles-lettres; and, though
these performances were very crude
and ill-digested, they, showan energy
and fertility of thought truly aston.
ishing. ‘ " '
While still young, Mirabeau w dded
Mademoiselle de Marignane, a rich
young heiress of Aix. The manner in
which he accomplished this marriage
showed his unscrupulous character,
and' his low estimate of female virtue.
Finding a favored lover in the field, be
determined to find means unfair to ef-'
fect his removal. His ingenuity could
devise no better mode than to com‘

promise the reputation of the lady he

would marry. Having arranged pri-
vate interviews with a maid, servant,
he was in the habitof leaving his‘well-
known carriage adjacent to the window
of his intended bride, while he was
secreted in the premises. The fair
fame of the lady becoming thus basely
implicated, the rival withdrew, and she
wasglad to give her hand to the man
who had wronged her. '

A marriage so inauspicious in its

. commencement ended in misery. Both

parties were unfaithful, and soOn sepa-
rated. During this brief union, Mira-i
beau launched out into new extrava-
gances, and contracted debts to the
amOunt of three hundred thousand ‘
livres, whereupon his father obtained"
an act Of‘ lunacy against him. 'A’

' quarrel was soon after made the 

text for further persecution, my 89...
was shut up in the castle Oflfr "dd.
subsequently remc'n'ed to Joni?

 

 

 

gramme.

 

He was not long in obtaining the
confidence of his keeper, and gaining
permission to visit the neighboring
city of Pontalier upon parole. There
he won the love of the Marchioness of
Monmer,a very beautiful and charming
woman. Her husband was a man of
considerable distinction, and had been
president of the Provincial Parliament.
Into this hitherto united family, Mira-
beau, the destroyer, stole, and robbed
it of its brightest ornament. The
marchioness became so infatuated by
her unhappy passion, that she consented
to sacrifice rank, home, society, and
fly with her lover to Holland.

We shall not soil our pages with an
account of all Mirabeau’s degrading
connections with females. Few could
resist upon whom he chose to exercise
his peculiar fascinati'ons. Although
hideously ugly, and frightfully marked
with the smal -pox, he gathered to him-
self the affections of many fair and
gifted ones. “You know not,” said he
to a friend, “ all the powers of my ugli-
ness.” He had an immense quantity
of hair, which was dressed in such a
manner as to suggest the idea of a lion’s
head. “When I shake my terrible
locks,” said he, “no one dares interrupt
me.” With such audacious tyranny
did he exercise his wonderful mastery
over hearts.

,llis conversation was as remarkable
as his face — witty, sensible, full of life
and freshness, interspersed with anec-
dotes and personal reminiscences, for
which hisromantie career furnished
ample material. He could appropriate
the thoughts and language of others
with the greatest facility, and so illu-
min te them by seine sudden flash of

emus that the poor authors were
wholl unable 'to recognize their own
offspring. .

Soon after Mirabeau’s escape from
his long imprisonment in Vineennes, he
identified himself with those incipient
movements which led to the French
Revolution. Although a noble by

birth, and a patrician In pride and hau.
temflall his better impulses led him go
espouse the popular cause. There qan

 

be no doubt that the love of liberty
which he expressed in such impassioned
words was genuine and heartfelt.

Mirabean desired to represent the
noblesse of Provence in the States Gen?
cral ;. but so wide spread (was his reputa—
tion for intrigue and profligaey, that he
failed of an election. The expedient
which he devised for securing a. seat
was more ingenious than honorable.
Hiring a warehouse, he posted upon
it the sign “ M irabeau, Woolen Draper,”
which so pleased the fancy of thetiers
état of Aix that they returned him 86
theirdeput .

Although young and wholly inex-
perienced in public atl'airs, he was 1109
unqualified for his new duties. The
renown of his romantic adventures, hi5.
intrigues, family quarrels, sufferings, W“
and eloquence, filled all France, an
created a general expectancy. Hi3
appetite for knowledge was ravenousr
and he had found pause, in the midst 9
his most absorbing pursuits, for study
and composition. He had thus accu‘
mulated a vast mass of crude and UMP' '
similated material which he had neither,
time nor patience to digest. In the
knowledge of human nature, he  '
wise beyond his years, having studied 15‘
in every phase, from the highest to tha
lowest, from the prince to the peasant
The outrages he had suffered had r0115?
his impassioned nature, and taught him
an earnest and manly eldquence.
knew the heart of the poor, for he ‘0‘?
had suffered want and privation. He
had never been pampered by parent“1
tenderness or enervated by indulgence?
On the whole, the Count (1e Mirabetl“
was as true an exponent of the who"
French people as the States Geneta '
contained. He was soon to becomet '9 '
leading spirit, the guide and mute.
of that assembly. .

We have seen that he secured 115*"
election only by a ruse dc guerre. .
again experienced difficulty when I 5,
presented his credentials. Several der-
uties had been greeted by wafm 
plause, but when the name ofMlmbevfif'
was pronounced a general murmur 
exeeration ran through the use“) I >

 

:‘i

 

  

 
  



   

MIRABEAU. 135

 

 

The members felt insulted by the )res-
ence of such a libertine among t tem,
and recoiled from him with horror.
Mirabeau felt this insult keenly, al-
t'hough he carried a lofty and menacing
from, and affected great contempt.
Very time he made an etfort to speak
0 was hissed into silence, and there
“’38 danger that the new life which
was rousing within him would be

crushed out without giving a Sign or

token- iut an incident soon occurred
Which extorted for him the admiration
of the House, and established him in a.
Position which he neverlost.
uroverai, a worthy deputy, was
f“51mm in the assembly, when a mem-
l‘ arose, and, without the slightest
ground for the charge, denounced him
as a tl'aitor and a spy. The House was
thl'OVt’n into the utmost confusion, and
013d and angry voices were heard from
eYeYy part of the hall. Mirabeau heard

"3 Intimate friend defamed, and his
genfirous soal was roused with indig-
rafilon. _lle ascended the tribune; he
aised his terrible vOiee far above the
£22199“, and emiquered a silence. [1e

. lcated the insulted honor of his
"end With noble and impassioned elo-
quence, and retired amid a universal
83;“ 0f applause. All hearts were
ti duet} before him; and from that

.me ills bitterest enemies listened to
“m With attention and respect.

I. f°m the moment that he was ap-
{Ieeeiateth Mirabeau was great. lle
80:13:; ecliplargized by a grand and‘ab:

_ iusiasm. He was all neive,

A Vitality. No difficulty disheart-
aazryiio labor fatigued him. Day
fouh 11"),ll10ntll after inonth,he poured
“he {18 burning thoughts on the trib-
He RWithout wearmess or exhaustion.

eemed endowed with an ubiquity

h, . "Night and presence, and to bear

"Wulnerable life.
90m 0_ amount of labor which be. ae-
“ l’i‘SlIed was almost incredible.
Raid D not lived with Mirabeau,”
knewnupliont, “I never would have
mu“ that can be done in one day,
1 a n'e“ In an interval of twelve
A day to him was of more

 

value than a week or a month to others.
The business which he carried on simul»
taneously was prodigious; from the
conception of a project to its execution,
there was no time to be lost. To-mor-
row was not to him the same imposter
as to most other men. Conversation
alone could seduce him from his labors,
and even that be converted into a
means of work ;for it was always at the
end of some conversation that active
labor was begun and writings prepared.
He read little; but he read with great
rapidity, and discovered at a glance
whatever was new and interesting in a
book. \Vritings were copied in his
house with prodigious quickness. As
fast as a speech changed its form b
corrections or additions, he had fresh
copies made of it. This labor some-
times pi'ovcd too much for those who
undertook it; but his haste of temper
was known, and he must be obeyed.
“ Monsieur le Comte,” said his secre-
tary to him one day, “the thing you
require is impossible.” “Impossible!”
exclaimed Mirabeau, starting from his
chair; “never again use that foolish
word in my presence! ”

We are. not forgetful that the charge
of plagiarism lies at the door of Mira-
beau. Even his love letters are said
to contain whole pages literally coPied
from French novels, and of his graver
labors Duuiont, Duroverai, and others.
claim the greater part. _It is asserted
that tltOse speeches which used to
electrify the assembly, were composed
and transcribed by his friends, and
that the clean copy was put into his
hands as he left his house.

we readily grant to whoever claims
it, the honor of forming the rough
draft of Mirabeau’s speeches. He
was not a man of scrupulous honor,
and doubtless often employed his
friends as hewers of wood and drawers
of water. \Yhoever may have been
the servitors of his genius, we know
that whatever distinguished his oratory
from that of all others, the scorching
irony, the sudden flashes of wit, and
splendid images’that illumined “de

more than all, the impassioned‘aetion ‘

       

 

 

  
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        

 

136 HIMBEAU.

 

which sent it thrilling to every heart—
these were all his own.

Mirabeau was the soul, the voice,
the arm of the Constituent Assembly.
He assisted at the birth of every move-
ment — proposed every measure — si-
lenced every objection — leveled every
antagonist. Did the tide of revolution
stop for a moment, or roll backward?
Mirabeau saw it; he roused himself;
he ascended the tribune, and paced it
with the tread of a giant; he tossed
backward his lion’s mane. 110w his
bosom heaves: how his eye dilates
and gathers fire. The spirit of the
man is fully up; he roars upon you;
he stuns you with the thunders of his
voice; he blinds you with the light-
ning of his eye. ’ He takes your reason
by storm. IIe seizes your doubts and
throws them to the winds. He mas-
ters your will and bears you along on a
triumphant tide Ofeloquence,

No man was capable of inspiring
warmer personal friendship than Mira~
beau. Men of the most opposite tastes
and sentiments met in his saloons,
drawn thither by the charms of his
conversation. Those who looked upon
his profligate habits with loathing and
disgust could not resist the manly
frankness of his address. He was the
conqueror of hearts, and inspired de-
votion in all who approached him.
Even servants and the postillions on
the road looked up to him with a
species of idolatry. It is related
that “sometimes he amused himself
with kicking and thumping Teutch,
(his valet-de-chambre,) who considered
these tough caresses as marks of friend-
ship. When, from occupation or some
other cause, several days had elapsed
without any such token being given,
poor Teutch was very sad, and his
servrce seemed to weigh heavilv upon
him. ‘What is the matter, 'lieutch,’
said his master one day, ‘you look
very melancholy ? ’ ‘ Monsieur le Comte
neglects me quite.’ ‘Howi what do

nu mean?’ said -Mirabeau. .Mom
sieur le Comte has not taken any no-
ties of me for this week past.’ Thus
it was really a necessary act of human-

 

ity to give him now and then a good
blow in the stomach; and if he were
knocked down, he laughed heartily,
and was quite delighted. The despair
of this man at Mirabeau’s death was
inconceivable.”

Mirabeau was the idol of the people.
At every public demonstration, all eyes
rested on that erect form, taller by 8
head than all his compeers. They
hung upon his lips; they would have
died for him; yet be neither cringed
to them, nor fawned upon them. He
even carried himself somewhatimperi-
ously in their presence. They read in
his open countenance honesty and sym-
pathy, and these are qualities that
the people are quick to appreciate-
He was generous and brave, frank
and sincere, and men remembered 110‘
his faults against him.

We are apt to view Mirabeau exclu-
sively as an orator and popular leader-
Though early removed from life, 119
had begun to develop high qualitiesao
a statesman. It was his ambition f0
make a great minister, to surpass 1“
renown Richelieu, Mazarin, and if
who had preceded him. He felt withIn
himselfan undeveloped power sufficien‘
for the most stupendous enterprises.

He had indeed many qualities 0
great leader. No person had a more
intuitive knowledge of mankind 8”
the secret springs of action, or CO“

select his agents with more unerring ‘

sagacity. Ilis judgments of the film"
were seldom mistaken. On save”
occasions they were so remarkflply
fulfilled as to give him the reputat10_n
of a seer with the vulgar. Among 1‘"

last utterances was one mournfuuy _

true: “I take with me,” exclaim
the dying man, “the last shredsO
monarchy.” ,S
It was in the last stage of Miriam?“
life, When he began to feel the stiff“)
of a noble ambition, and a stfiengt ‘
accom lish somethin wort y 0 ,
geniusL worthy to leave behind hi:
as a patriot’s legacy to his country“.
it was then that he began to tea? 5
bitter fruit of his early sins. '
When he would have forgotten a”

Hill

 

4:»

a"... _- H ‘

 

 

4: «y

 

cg

East, the world remembered it against
1m. When he would have com-
menced a new life, and shaken off his
degrading connections, society shut
her doors in his face. “Alas!” he
Would exclaim, in a voice broken with
80b3, “I am cruelly expiating the er-
rors of my youth.” .

We have sometimes imagined what
France would have been had Mirabeau
’60“ spared to her; and we have
thought that if his great heart had
continued to beat against his coun-
try,s9 he would have steadied her
convulsive throbbiugs, and saved her
the deadliest pangs of the Revolu-
t"0"- It is evident‘thatduring the last
months of his life, he had anxiousfore-
)Odings of the future, and sought to lay
am‘ipotent spirits he had raised. He
w that the bastard sons of freedom

We ready to spring to the helm the
:Oment he should drOp it; and his eye
a“tiered, half regretfully, back to the

"me which hisown handshad shaken.
its Iould he have planted it again on
it if foundations, and heaved around
not" anoient bulwarks? We know

, a f‘OI‘ here the curtain drops upon
i |fabeau, and the Revolution rolls on
alts desolating track.

Never did death-knell strike so dis-
waily _0n the ear of France, as that
let'ch "1 1791 announced the death of
m.hgl'eat leader. When the tidings

)5 alarming illness was rumored in
ans» the whole city was moved.
9" passed each other in the streets in
Falling silence. Thousands crowded
rez‘idfinlte-chamher ofthe (lying man, to
lourltae bulletin which announced the
em] 3 Progress of his disease. Sey-
vg, eagerly offered to open their

"'8. that they might pour into his

“ted system the fresh current of
wtifltllllth. The king in his palace watched
trembling anxiety for the return

‘ “Ch messenger from the sick cham-
"- But neither prayers, nor tears,
r metlical skill. could save him from
estroyer, and soon there remained
the? "foaming people but the ashes 0f

"‘ldol~—th0 great procession and

the Pintheon !

LETTER FROM BAYARD TAYLOR.

 

 

Mirabeau’s disease was a most agon-
izing one, brought on by early ex-
cesses. It moved on without pause or
pity. He bore his sufferings with the
fortitude ofa philosopher. Would that
we. might add, with the resignation of
a Christian. He preserved all his self-
control, and all his tranquillity of ex—
terior. “hen the anguish of some
fierce convulsion had passed away, he
would turn to his attendants and sav:
“ l shall suffer so long as you have the
least hopes of my cure; but if you
have no longer any, have the humani-
ty to put an end to my sufferings, of
which you can have no idea.” On
the morning of his death, he wrote:
“ lt is not so difficult to die.”

Calling to his side the Bishop of
Autun, he gave him a speech on wills,
saying, “these are the last thoughts
the world will have of mine. I de-
posit this manuscript with you. Read
it when I am no more; it is my
legacy to the Aesembly.” He saw
that the eyes of all France rested
u on him, and, to borrow the forci-
b e language of the good bishop who
attended him, “he drmmtized his death."
His thoughts were all “earthward
bent,” and we do not learn that he
addressed one earnest prayer to heaven;
and thus without a repentant tear, With
his sins unforgiven, his soul unblessed,
Mirabeau surrendered himselfinto the

hands of his Maker.

 

LETTER FROM BAYARD TAYLOR.
WE give below a very interesting

account of the visit of our Amer-
ican traveler, Bayard Taylor, to the
greatest traveler of the old world,
Alexander Von Humboldt.

There is probably no living man
who has added so much to the re-
searches of science, and to the inform»
tion we have received from the two“
parts of the world, as Von Humboldt
He was born in 1769, when his father,
Major Von Humboldt, was chambefh“
to the princess Elizabeth of Pm‘Pi
and endowed as he was by nature With

   
     
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

       

1'38 LETTER FROM BAYARD TAYLOR.

a strong physical constitution, and
having all the advantages of education
and rank placed within his reach, he
has used his great brain for nearly a
century, without stint or hindrance.
His great work, “Kosmos,” contains
the result of his chief studies. It is
good to look upon such a man, and we
are sure this letter contains both in-
terest and profit for our readers :

AN HOUR “'I'l'll HUMBOLIJT.

BERLIN, Nov. 25, 1856.

I came to Berlin, not to visit its
museums and galleries, its magnificent
street of lindens, its Operas and thea-
ters, nor to mingle in the gay life of its
streets and saloons, but for the sake of
seeing and speaking with the world’s
greatest living man—Alexander Von
Humboldt.

At present, with his great age and
his universal renown, regarded as a
throned monarch in the world of sci-
ence, his friends have been obliged,
perforce, to protect him from the ex-
iausting homage of his thousands of
subjects, and, for his own sake, to make
difficult the wgys of access to him.
The friend and familiar companion of
theEKing, he may be said, equally, to
hold his own court, with the privilege,
however, of at any time breaking
through the formalities which only
self-defense has rendered necessary.
Some of my works, I knew, had found
their way into his hands: I was at the
beginning of a journey which would
Dl‘Obably lead me through regions which
his feet had traVersed and his genius
illustrated, and it was not merely a
natural curiosity which attracted me
toward him. lfollowed the advice of
some (human friends, and made use of
no Inedlatory‘ influence, but simply dis-
pR‘Cle a note to him, stating mv
name and object, and asking for fin in”.
tervrew.

Three days.afterward I received,
through the my post. a reply in his
own hand, stating that, although he
was suffering from a cold which had
followed his removal from Potsdam to
the capital, he would willingly receive

 

"

me, and appointed one o’clock to-day
for the visit. I was punctual to the
minute, and reached his residence in
the()ranienburger—strasse, as the clock
struck. While in Berlin, helives with
his servant, Seifert, whose name I found
on the door. It was a plain two-story
house, with a (lull pink front, and in-
habited, like most of the houses in
German cities, by two or three fami-
lies. The bell-wire over Seifert’s name
tame from the second story. Ipulled:
the heavy portc-cochere opened of itself,
and I mounted the steps until I reached
a second bell-pull, over a plate in’
Scribcd, “Alexander Von Humboldt."
A stout, sipiare-faced man of abou‘
fifty, whom I at once recognized 3’
Seifert, opened thedoor for me. “A”
you Herr Taylor? ” he asked; 8“,
added, on receiving my reply: “HID
Excellency is ready to receive you-1
He ushered me into a room filled With
stutl'cd birds and other objects of Ila"
ural history; then into a large libraf'Y’

which apparently contained the g1”

of authors, artists, and men of science'
I walked between two long table“
heaped with sumptuous folios, t0 t °
further door, which Opened into ‘
study. Those who have seen the_
mirahle colored lithograph of Hilde'
brand's picture, know precisely h°_'
the room looks. There was the Pl?"
table, the writing-desk covered W“
letters and manuscripts, the little green
sofa, and the same maps and pictlfl?
on the drab-colored walls. Th? PW
ture had been so long hanging “1 my
own room at home, that I at Once to:
cognized each particular object. .

Seifcrt went to an inner d007,, ‘
nounccd my name, and Humboldt 1'“
mediatelv appeared. He came “P .t
me witlr a heartiness and corfll’m ’
which made me feel that I was_ In t 4
presence of a friend, gave me his 113 n:
and inquired whether we shoulfichon’
verse in English or German. ‘ 3’”
letter,” said he, “ was that Of a (’5‘!
man, and you must certainly FPeak i
language familiarly; but 1 a!" “is? a
the constant habit of using Engl" '
He insisted on my taking one

be

 

..:r;:.~c,;~:q.=. ,

U; V _.

 

 

:9 x;

 

  

LETTER FROM BAYARD TAYLOR. 139

g A

the green sofa, observing that he rarely
s31‘..u[)on it himself; then drew.up a
Elam cane-bottomed chair and seated
.lmself beside it, asking me to speak a
little louder than usual, as his hearing
was not so acute as formerly.
th As I looked at the majestic old man,
. e lme ot Tennyson, describing Well-
lngton, came into my mind: “ Oh,
200d gray head, which all men know.”
J 6 first impression made by Hum-
boklt’s face is that ot' a broad and
genial humanity. His massive brow,
eavy with the gathered wisdom of
nearly a century, bends forward and
OVGX'hangs his breast, like a ripe ear of
“gm, but as you look below it, a pair
0 Clear blue eyes. almost as brightand
steady as a child’s, meet your own.
£82110? eyes you read that trust in
W at at immortal youth of the heart,
wi Li make the snows ot eighty-seven
titers he so lightly upon his head.
0“ trust him utterly at the first
goal??? and you feel that he will trust
a ,1 you are worthy of It. I had
pPTOached him with a natural feeling
ouggverence, but in five minutes I
with lthat I loved him, and could talk‘
m inn as freely as With a friend ot
ch¥fliwn age. His nose, mouth and
ter ave the heavy I‘eutomc charac-
prés whose genuine type always ex-
essses an honest snnphcity and direct-
I Was m0st surprised by the youthful
aracter ofhis face. I knew that he
the been frequently indisposed during
thatplrlesent year,.and had been told
markgefwas beginning to show the
not ht t) his extremeage; but} should
'e'ené“ 0‘ suspected him of being over
small Y'hve.‘ Ills wrinkles are few and
and (33nd his 5km has a.smoothness
is h ellcacy rarely seen In. old men.
air, although snow-white, is still
‘isuildant; his step slow, but firm, ant-l
nanner active almost to restless-
the -thIe sleeps but four hours (fut 0f
hisdauelltyIfour‘ reads and replies to
. y ram Oertters’ and suffers no
3 0 occurrence of the least interest
 Part of the world to escape his
Ion. I could not perceive that

oh

 

his memory, the first mental faculty to
show decay, is at all impaired. He
talks rapidly, with the greatest appa-
rent ease, never hesitating for a word,
whether in English or German, and, in
fact, seemed to be unconscious which
language he was using, as he changed
five or six times in the course of the
conversation. He did not remain in
his chair more than ten minutes at a
time, frequently getting up and walk-
ing about the room, now and then
pointing to a picture or opening a book
to illustrate some remark.

He began by referring to my wit:-
ter journey into Lapland. “ Why do
you choose the winter?” he asked:
“ Your experiences will be very inter-
esting, it is true, but will you not suffer
from the severe cold? ” “That re-
mains to be seen,” I answered. “ I
have tried all climates except the Arc-
tic, without the least injury. The last
two years of my travels were spent in
tropical countries, and now I wish to
have the strongest possible contrast.”
“ That is quite natural,” he remarked,
“and [can understand how your ob-
ject in travel must le‘dd you to seek
such contrasts; but you must possess
a remarkably healthy organization.”
“ You doubtless know, from your own
experience,” I said, “ that nothing pre-
serves a man’s vitality like travel.”
“ Very true,” he answered, “if it does
not kill at the outset. For my part, I
keep my health everywhere, like your-
self. During five years in South Amer-
ica and the \Vest Indies, I passed
through the midst of black vomit and
yellow fever untouched.”

I spoke of my projected visit to Ru:-
sin, and my desire to traverse the
Russian-Tartar provinces of Central
Asia. The Kirghiz steppes, he said,
were very monotonous; fifty miles gave
you the picture of a thousand; but the
people were exceedingly interesting.
lfl desired to go there, I would have
no difficulty in passing through them
to the Chinese frontier; but the Bond"
ern provinces of Siberia, he thougva
would best repay me. The Scenery
among the Altai Mountain! W” "’7

      
     
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
   
  
    
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
   
  
  
       

140

grand. From his window in one of
the Siberian towns, he had counted
eleven peaks covered with eternal
snow. The Kirghizes, he added, were
among the few races whose habits had
remained unchanged for thousands of
years, and they had the remarkable
peculiarity of combining a monastic
with a nomandic life. They were
partly Budhist and partly Mussulman,
and their monkish sects followed the
different clans in their wanderings, car-
rying on their devotions in the encamp-
ments, inside of a sacred circle marked
out by spears. He had seen their cere-
monies, and was struck with their re-
semblance to those of the Catholic
church.

lIumboldt’s recollectiOns of the Al-
tai Mountains naturally led him to
speak of the Andes. “ You have trav-
eled in Mexico,” said he: “do you not
agree with me in the opinion that the
finest mountains in the world are those
single cones of perpetual snow rising
out of the splendid vegetation of the
tropics? The Himalayas, although
loftier, can scarcely make an equal im-
pression ; they lie further to the north,
without the belt of tropical growths,
and their sides are dreary and sterile
in comparison. You remember Ori-
zaba,” continued he : “ here is an en-
graving from a rough sketch of mine.
I hepe you will find it correct.” He
rose and took down the illustrated folio
Which accompanied the last editidn of
his “ Minor Writings,” turned over the
leaves and recalled, at each plate, some
reminiscence of his American travel.
“I still think,” he remarked as he
closed the book, “that Chimborazo is
the grandest mountain in the world.”

Among the objects in his study was
alrvmg chameleon,in a box with a glass
ltd. 'lhe animal, which was about six
inCheS long. was laZily dozing on a bed
of sand, with a big blue-fly (the “neon-
scious provision for his dinner) perched
upon his back. “ He has just been sent
to me from Smyrna.”said Humboldt'
“he is very listless and unconcerned i1;
his manner.” Just then the chameleon
opened one of his long, tubular eyes,

 

LETTER FROM BAYARD TAYLOR.

‘4

and looked u at us. “A peculiarity
of this anima.” he continued, “is its
power of looking in difl'erentdirections
at the same time. He can turn one
eye toward heaven, while the other in-
spects the earth. There are many;
clergymen who have the same power.’

I sat or walked, following his move-
ments, an eager listener, and speaking
in alternate English and German, until
the time which hehad granted me had
expired. Scifert at length reappeared,
and said to him, in a manner at one:
respectful and familiar: “It is time,
and I took my leave.

“ You have traveled much, and seen\
many ruins,” said Humboldt, as he
gave me his hand again; “now 3'0:
have seen one more.” “Not a rum,

I could not help replying, “ but a pyra'
mid.” For I pressed the hand wln
had touched those of Frederick the
Great, of Forster, the companion.o
Captain Cook, of Klopstock and Scbll‘
ler, of Pitt, Napoleon, Josephine, 11“
Marshals of the Empire, Jefferson!
Hamilton, Wicland, Herder, Goethe,
Cuvier, La Place, Gay-Lussac, Beetho'
ven, Walter Scott — in short, of emf."
great man whom Europe has produce
for three quarters of a century.
looked into the eyes which had "0
only seen this living history 0f “3°
world pass by, scene after scene. “i
the actors retired one by one, to return
no more, but had beheld the Catlin“?t
of Atures and the forests of the C959"
quiare, Chiniborazo, the Amazon ““
Popocatapetl, the Altaian NP8 1:"
Siberia, the Tartar steppes {While
Caspian Sea. Such a splendid cm}
of experience well befits a life of 50°.
generous devotion to science. of
never seen so sublime an examplema
old age — crowned with irnperrsha
success, full of the ripest med?“
cheered and sweetened by the 130b, ’
attributes of the heart. A Wm! 1“
deed! No: a human temple, Per ,
as the Parthenon. , a”

As I was passing out througl,1
cabinet of hatural 11istory,S°' ‘
voice arrested me. “ I beg your

- - I
don, sir,” said he, “but do you L90

 

at:

 

 

‘ ‘3‘}.

,___.._.._.._- ‘.

 

 

  

 

SLEEP.

 

'hat this is i ” pointing to the antlers
Of a Rocky Mountain elk. “ Ofcourse
1 do,” said 1; “I have helped to eat
mfiny of them.” He then pointed out
the other specimens, and took me into
tlle‘library to show me some drawings
.Y his son-in-law, Muhihausen, who
f‘d accompanied Lieut. Whipple in
h'? expedition to the Rocky Moun
tains. He also showed me a very
elfilborate specimen of bead-work, in a
3‘” frame. “This,” he said, “ is the
work of a Kirghiz princess, who pre-
8ented it to his ExL-elleney when we
Were on our journey to Siberia.” “ You
accompanied his Excellenev then?”
t asked. “ Yes,” said he; "‘wc were
ore‘l'e In ’29.” Seifert is justly proud
‘ang shared for thirty or forty
912:3” the fortunes of his master.
in etle was a ring, and. a servant came
.0 announce a VlSltm‘. “Ah! the
lirllnnee .Ypsilanti,” said he; “ do at let
muss“. dont let a smgle soul in; I
if e go and dress lllS Excellency.
fullvvy’tcuse me —yours, most respect-
Outn 2nd therewith he bowed himself
' s I descended to the street,I
passed Prince Ypsilanti on the stairs.

\

, SLEEP.
THOSEwho do not sleep well, do

mindnot {Vorlt well, either with bodyor
“e - Fashionable people, who vio-
°" neglect more laws of their being
viz!“ even vicious or criminal persons,
ate the laws of sleep, awfully.
“day “'9 up late, exhausting both body
mm, long after the last meal has
reg: taken 311d digested, and do not
invite when the darkness and stillness
m) '9 them. Then they have no extra
oltp y 0f blood for the brain, perhaps
The ‘I’P"}lgll for common 'purposes.
i a)’ Is in the morning, Willie. nature
“we “wake" not in sleep, but in unre-
and 1‘ii'eanness, and try, by mental
f reap gglcel stimulants, to supply tlhfl
“tail bgamed by the poor, uncu ti-
“ Per, by sleep.
"st When all the anima's, except a
’ “We to rest, when all the useful

 

laborers of every class have finished
the labors of the day, the votaries of
fashion begin the toils of the night,
and like the flies and moths, that are
woke and roused by the splendor of
chandeliers, they buzz around the ob-
jects of their admiratiop and worship,
until they are exhausted. Even the
pauper patient at our hospitals, enjoys
sleep; whereas the lady, whose income
counts by thousands, can not have one
night’s good sleep. 0h! ye poor rich !

Almost all headaches arise from de-
ficient circulation in the brain; and
nothing is so beneficial, nay, so abso-
lutely requisite, as plenty of sound
sleep. The remedy for Tic Dolor-m,
or namely/(a, is sleep. One good
night’s sleep is of more use to a cough,
than any remedy of the entire materia
medica. If, on “ taking cold,” as it is
called, we can lie down, wrap up warm,
and sleep, our fortune is made—we
are recovered. The best medicine that
we can give in fever, is sleep.

The Scalpel,

 

LITTLE MAY.

soxnowmur xxscmmtn To an. ARI) xns. arnoxc.
BY MRS. c. n. GILDERSLEEVR.
'Tis the angel's harvest. and they are gathering
the children. What they sunglast Sabbath morning.
Tun fairest one of all our band,
"as flown to earth from tli’.Splrit-land,
And folded close her tiny Wings,
She, by a Mortal hearthstone sings.

Launch the Death-bark, haste away,
And bring her home to Heaven to-day!
For nestled clOse to [Oving breasts,

Our little angel wanderer rests,

We've missed her golden harp too long!
We We missed the warble of her song!
’T is Sabbath morn, so haste away,

And bring her back to Heaven, to-day.

a m it I! a in V

No purer spirit drifted out,

Amid the Angel’sjoyous shout,

Than left that morn, our teArful shore,
To come'again, ah, never more!

And o’er the death-tide flashed a light.
That hid her tossing bark from sight.
And mortals called that gleam a story
But ‘t was the gates of Heaven 11":
And ere its radiance passed away.

The waiting spirits welcomed KAY-

    

 

a;

  
     

 

44.? .I' .

142 MONTHLY DIGEST or NEWS.

MONTHLY DIGEST OF NEWS. '

IIE proceedings of the Bribery Commit-
tee, appointed by the Ilousc of Repre-
sentatives in January, has been the principal
matter of interest in Congress during the past
month. Raymond, of the New York Tunes,
Col. Chester, of the Philadelphia Inquirer,
and Simonton, were arrested as witnesses.
Mr. Raymond refused to give the name of the
writer in the 73mm, whose. charge of corrup-
tion by the bribery of members of the Home
had first elicited the discussion, but held
himself responsible for the article, and main-
tained the duty of the press to act on moral
convictions.

On the 17th of January, the House were
considering a private bill, in connection with
which Mr. (iiddings, of Ohio, was discussing
a point in relation to the Court of Claims.
He had been a friend to the court, but still
he considered the judges fallible. “I, my-
self, am fallible,“ he said, and fell backward
in his chair, being seized with atrophy of the
heart. The members and spectators Were
thrown into the highest state of alarm, in the
midst of which an adjournment ensued. “’0
are happy to state that Mr. Giddings is in a
fair way for recovery.

Faon various portions of the country we
hear reports of the intense cold. A dispatch
from Water-town, Jcil'crson county, on Mon-
day the 18th, says :—“Iu this village yester-
day, all the mercury thermometers congealed
at about thirty-seven degrees below zero. A
spirit thermometer registered forty degrees
below zero." The suffering throughout the
country, much of which remains to be re-
vealed, has been dreadful. A gentleman who
residcsin Northern Iowa states that within a
circuit of seventy miles about his residence,
some thirty persons have perished of cold the
present winter. A party of eight hunters
were lost in the storm on the prairie, and all
perished. The degree of cold at the South
“‘9 Present season is unprecedented. In all
Parts of Virginia, the people are busily en-
gazed I" harvesting ice. They say that no
supply will be needed from the North next
Glimmer. The ice in the Mississippi extends
flirther south than it has for many years past.
A‘ Si- Lou's. mVigation has been suspended
for three weeks on account of the ice. ()n
the 22“] “limo. the thermometer at Minacoby,
East Honda,» S‘OOd at twelve degrees below
zero at sunrise, which is the coldest weather
ever known there.

DISASTER AT Sam—A melaneh
of disasters during the late gale gillsci‘llzlt‘lfiil:
apers. One of the most terrible is that
which befell the British brig Prian Louila
The brig was off the coast of Barnega’t when
a violent gale from the northwest sprahg up
and almost completely dismantled the veuell

 

Three of the men were frost-bitten, and the
remainder were hardly capable of managing
the vessel, so intense was the cold which 80'
companicd the gale. After; many days 0
weary labor they succeeded in reaching the
coast again, but again they encountere ‘
northwester, and a second time the V9359

was dismantled. The storm was accomp“ -

nied with intense cold, and as the sea washe
over the brig the water froze upon her (190”
and rigging, and converted her into a 111191"
turc iceberg. The men found it alniOstlm'
possible to work the ship, and were 1111
the necessity of 'breaking the ice' from. the
sails and rigging with their marling spikes'
For more than a month the forecastle "9
converted into a hospital. Thither the frOSi'
bitten seamen would hurry and endeavor
restore their frozen limbs to life again. They
were totally unacquainted with the luxury 0
a fire, and with bcnumbed hands and froze“
feet were obliged to seek repose in app“
which they had not changed for weeks- t-
the 17th, while off Fire. Island inlet, the 81'“
snow storm which visited us so severly No.5?!
“ml. in the gale of wind which acconipaillf.
it fi-om the northeast, the I’rincrrs 10’“ .
Was again driven to sea in a wrecked 90”
tiou. The decks were covered with 109 w
the depth of eight or ten inches. The???
cndcavored to bear up against the "1130
tune, but four of them were compelled to
tire to their berths. In fact, at one Per“;
during the continuance of the storm, the m3.“
and two sailors were all the captain 60””0
upon to assist in navigating the vessel. . “a
IloanmLI-z Menopa—Another mystem
murder has been perpetrated in Bond streak
New York city. Dr. Harvey Burdell. ‘ w
known dentist, was found dead in his 0
on Saturday morning, by his errand-boy,  m
had come as usual, about half-1335‘ e' dy
o’clock, to attend his office duties. .Thc b3”.
Wit-‘4 lying upon the floor, shookmglyloo“
tiiated. and surrounded with clots 0f heated
and the door and walls of the room beam D _
with blood. The inmates being alarme am“,
John W. Francis, who lives in the 1mm‘2 m.
vicinity, was called in to make an exam
tiou. He found that Dr. Halide: l3";
stran rled b a li ature a p ic '
throa‘i. and ythat; lizo less tllan fifteellciwp
wounds, almost any of which won” r m.
death, had been inflicted with some 5h“ g"
strumcnt on his person. He had be“; -
ried, but his wife obtained a divorce fro '
some few years ago. n.

Tu: notorious Preston 8. Brooks 612d”
cently in Washington from a sudden on”.
of croup, which followed upon a sever: M
and terminated his life in ten minute ,
its first appearance.

 

 

 

 

. ' .
“ u“‘olved,

MONTHLY DIGEST OF NEWS.

k

eiTai: lion. Charles Sumner has been re-
i“(etiited United States Senator, by the House
12 assachusctts, by a vote of 333 against
E —- these last being divided between Edward

Verett, Rufus Choate, and one or two others.

LeAiHloso the proceedings of the New York
. [fissilll‘e is a. bill appropriating money for
"whence for the Governor; a resolution
8 mg the thanks of the Senate to Lieut.
A , “Stein, and the introduction of a petition
, m the Chamber of CommerCc praying for
I"’Pt‘fii 0f the usury laws; a bill prohibiting
A: Sale of intoxicating liquors; and another
' Charter bill,

. E‘s-$0511 or Usrso CHARCOAL. — A day or
residilnce two servant girls of E. II. Mann,
ve “H at Tubby Hook, on the Hudson
l'ylmta kettle of burning charcoal in their

m before going to bed. As they were not
“posit;th usual hour, the coachinan rapped
0 an eir door and called them. but received
flier.- Aftgr waiting some time, he

gain, an , still reeeivin no answer,
“staid :(limcthing was wrong,gand entered
both dead. iui he discovered that they were

h?:'t,ll{ANE:—Tlie public will be delighted to
pair at this eminent man, whose health was

to id of a short while since, and who was

0 cousue Suffering under a combined attack
mnfide mption and paralysis, is much better;
by. re m- llopcs are said to be entertained of
covery

FOREIGN NEWS.

3:3," 01' HUGH Minna—Hugh Miller,
‘ence ‘known Scotch geologist and man of
none t,’ the author of “ The Old Red Sand-
; and the editor of the "Vine" news-
room’ "I" found the other day dead in his
7:lvnth a bullet-hole through his heart.
tum “"9? Of his death is field for conjec-
ey,“ gm“ in poor health at the time.
humble °m It Croinarty, in Scotland, of
‘Orlred Paremage, and for fifteen years
p oyinm '2' quflrry as a common laborer,
e . 3 his leisure moments in acquiring

“on lnformation from books or observa-
Nancea ch "as possible under the circum-
babl' . he nature of his occupation,
“trolley mime?“ a taste for geological re-
“ es' ‘OFhich otjlatc years he has air
I lie‘duswoly devoted himself; but his

. r”): Mtempts were in another direc-
°°un n “.“ns received the position of ac-
‘Ovn "“ a bank establishment in his native
“My, e 0““ more leisure for reading and
NA?“ Published in 1935 his first work,
he,» :h‘.“ Legends in the North of Scot.
uwho“ 'ch h" been extensively read in
Publicly? " Well as in England. A letter
auto 0, “' 1839, aster the decision of the
Lord.“ in the Auchetcrardcr case, in
e “ch-m in the Church of Scotland
drew toward him the attention

of the Evangelical party, and he was ap-
pointed editor of the Witness newspaper, the
metropolitan organ of the Free Church.

A'Nornsa Bamsn Ware—The English are
again at war with China. The following ap-
pear to be the facts of the case. For the
past few months the intercourse between the
British authorities and the Governor of Can-
ton has been embarrassed with growing dif-
ficulties, the result of the unredressed griev-
ances of British merchants. On the 8th of
October the Chinese authorities consummated
their career of arbitrary violence by seizing a
lorcha under British colors, and making
prisoners of the crew. It is stated on good
authority that they cut ofi‘ the heads of four
of the crew. The consul, Mr. Parkes, the
British agent, on the spot, proceeded first on
board the lorcha, and afterward endeavored
to obtain an interview with the mandarins.
On board the lorcha he was menaced, andthe
niandnrins refused to give any kind of ex-
planation of the proceeding. Admiral Sey-
mour then determined to attack the city itself.
A wall, composed partly of sandstone and
partly of brick, surrounds Canton ; it is about
thirty feet high and twenty-five feet thick,
and is mounted with cannon. Against this
wall a fire was opened on the 27th of Octo-
ber, and by the 29th a practical breach had
been opened, through which the troops en-
tered. The Governor's palace, situated in
the northwestern part of the city, was gained,
but appears not to have proved a osition
worth holding, for the troops were wit drawn
in the evening, with the loss of only three
killed and twelve wounded. '

Imannaasca or Usrrnn Suns Vaseline.
—It is announced that an American ship"
fired into by one of the Chinese forts, where—
upon the United States frigate Portsmouth
dcstroyed it, and notified the Chinese that
unless reparation was made for the insult
offered to the American flag, hostilities would
be commenced.

Tamera—A public meeting in London, on
motion of Sir Roderick Murchison, has passed
the following resolution: That this meeting,
highly appreciating the intrepidity and per-
severance of Dr. Livmgston in his extended
and dangerous journ_ey8. deems it incumbent
to originate a pecuniary tribute as an expres-
sion of their admiration and gratitude for his
disinterested and self-denying labors in the
cause of science and philanthropy. The sub-
scriptions announced in the course of tho
eVeuing amounted to upward of £400.

Fame: and England have settled the
Prusso-Swiss difficulty. Switzerland is to I“
the Royalist filibusters at liberty, on a”
guarantee of the two Western Powers

russia shall renounce all claim to Nflkh“
and Ifl‘

tel, acknowledge its independenoer'

 

 

pend her’hiilitary pram“, . .. 

 
   
  

 
 
  
   
 
   
    
  
    
  
   
   
 
  
 
       
        
        

EDITOR’S DEPARTMENT.

 

WHAT WE WEAR.

‘ S the air We breathe is the first essential
of existence, and food the second, so
our clothing may very properly be considered
the third. And, as is true in the first cases,
the primary use of clothing is for the pres-
ervation of health and comfort. Its second-
ary use, as a decoration, for the purpose of
gratifying that taste which is a part of our
nature, is also a legitimate one, but it is cer-
tainly essential that this inferior object of
clothing should not interfere with its first and
most important use. But that it' often does
thus interfere, so that its inferior object
comes to be the one of first importance, is
very evident, and comfort and life are con-
tinually sacrificed from this false rule in the
choice of what We wear. In all portions of
the world, from infancy to old age, this abuse
of clothing is practiced, but it is far more
common among enlightened than among
less civilized communities, and among our
own sex than the sterner portion of crea-
tion; thus, in this last instance, reversing
the apparent order of nature, for among
birds and beasts the males are those which
wear the gayest plumage and the richest furs.
This is true too among savage nations, where
the bravery of dress is universally appropri-
ated by the stronger sex. But we will not
quarrel with the progress of civilization for
throwing this pleasant folly, if we may so
term it, into the hands of the gentler sex,
to whom it really seems more appropriate,
if women will only prove that she is not too
much imbued with folly to use it with mod-
eration and common sense. When, how-
ever. she allows the body to sulfur, and be-
come worn out, and prematurely old and
ugly ln order that she may show her skill in
decorating it. She shews neither of these
qualities. Not that we would in these re-
marks draw any invidious comparison be-
“Vcen “‘0 two “"5: for we believe that in
those follies to which men devote themselves,
they show just as little wisdom and common
sense as their more lectured sisterhood.
If women ruin their health by going out
on cold winter nights with bare neck. and
thin stockings, and put out their eye; over

EDITOR’S DEPARTMENT.

 

embroidery frames, in order to create soula
human and questionable beauty, while they
destroy what God made unquestionably beau“.
ful, so do men ruin theirs by hot slings and
hot oyster suppers, and grow red and blefll"
cycd by keeping their eyes in a constant 5“
mosphere of tobacco-smoke. And, probably,
there are just about as many unreasonabl'
persons on the one hand as on the Ollie"
An average quality of mind being given, the
tendency is that if a woman has a reasonfible
husband, she will be tolerany reasonable
herself; and if a man has a reasonable Wm”
that fact has a constant tendency to impro'c
the bearings of his own common sense;

We think, too, that there are about '9
many lmsbands who wish to see their Wm“
dress gaily, and prompt them to it, as the”
are wives who dress finely without consul"
ing their husband‘s wishes. Mr. A- - "'
sees Mrs. B. . . . . pass by his store, shining
with brocadcs and feathers, and he fill"
that his business is quite as good 85 M"
B. . . . .‘s, and that his wife looks as We" u
Mrs. B. . . . ., and hasjust as good arightw
well dressed. So the new brocade is Dough
and sent home. Or he says to his Wife ‘
the dinner-table, “ My dear, have you been
out to day? Well, I think you out;ht
try the fresh air. You grow so old from
ting here moping by the fire all the "h
And try and dress yourself respectably “lbw
you go —I do n’t wish to have my my a
disgraced by the shabby appearance 7°
make in the streets.” And thus prompw 
the wife goes out, and thinking that her
band wishes to see her dress finclYo She
chases a set of embroidery a “we be
than she has yet ventured upon» and 
other things that she had not thought
wantin ' before.

It isstrue there are many cases Where a";
husband, feeling the pressure upon bl" 9",,“
regrets and remonstratcs against h“ w, '
unreasonable devotion to (111955, b‘" t
are also an abundance of cases where. for
foolish wish of doing as others do. he Prom
her to it, beyond what she would have c
sidered desirable but for the sake 0‘ l)l , a
her husband.

tie.

W"

 
 
   

,

   
  
  

" mw........

    
  

  

 

     

 

 

  

¥

The evil of our devotion to dress simply
‘3 I decoration, would not be so great if it
were not one that accelerated itself continu-
‘ny like a stone rolling down hill. It seems
‘0 be .a law of human nature that an object
‘0 Which we devote ourselves with any de-
8'00 of success, tends to absorb us and draw
“’3? our minds from other things. It is
“My that a person dresses so as to show
spedal skill or superiority therein without

“mine Wholly absorbed in it, and thus
Ming it a folly instead of an art. It really
m an an to dress so as to secure the greatest
mom“ 0f health and comfort, and at the
“me t“he the most sensible adherence to

‘3 rules of taste and beauty, and it is an art

u should be understood as well as the other
Emmon arts of living. But the constant
mzsency of fashion is to extremes. Coni-

”“80 says that a child’s dress shall
'itguthShort, so tliat.it may. not interfere

m a“: needy acquired skill In walking.
child’s: ashionable mother says, “ Oh, if my
very fl‘ FOSS is to 9e cut short, I Will cut it
"n tgoml't, so that people may know that ,1,

nd ":Oughly acquainted With the fashion:
’0 mo 0 dress of the little unfortunate is
imbfl "oiled that the whole of the lower
he ex‘ those coldest portions of thebody —

eflipofed to wind and storm, With only

ml ill-pest 0f cow-rings, and those so filled
'er 5 illful perforations that We should weep
“mole”? beggar‘s child who wore such reutsa

““ gracefully. But the fashionable mo-
rmig“? not. think of this in the constant ab-
“ther tff mind and feeling, by the beauties
"in the comforts of dress. The

Prep -

a , _ .

mm" or the admiration of one beauti-
garlnc

m suggests\ a dozen similar ones,
[Oh it '

would be Vory easy in fancy to pos-
wholand liltle by little the mind becomes
(“aimed with the contemplation of such
ream Ions ‘0 the exclusion of every thing
liable and useful.
i: eye becomes so educated to the pre-
9 “e: fa""h‘On—the style of apparel which
.Me thworn by all well-bred people for the
I00h, 3i at any thing Which deviates from it,
'0 "gm" Ind absurd, and exposes the
he Cow ridicule. We are thus in 5 mens-
Mg mpeued to follow the ever-varying
6‘ in d“, but we need never do so to
m “tent that our dress will be at vari-

EDITOR‘S DEPARTMENT.

 

ance with reason and common sense. If
fashion dictates long dresses, we need not
have ours cut so long that they must sweep
the streets, and be trodden upon by every
one who approaches us. If the style of bon-
net is such that it forms only a rosette
at the back of the head, we can still have one
similarly made, but large enough to give a
tolerably respectable covering for the head,
without attracting the attention of any but
the most captions—the foolishly fasliiona~
ble and not the common-sense people. If
fashion puts on beeps, it shows neither our
sense nor our good taste to extend the bor-
ders of our garments in such a way that we
can not pass the door of a pew at church, or
a person on the sidewalk, without driving
him into the mud, or go through an ordinary
room without putting occupants and furniture
to the greatest inconvenience, and brushing
over the tottling little people who have as
good a right there as we. Those persona
show the most good sense and the most good
taste who follow a fashion only so far and
only so readily as to avoid attracting any
special attention. Many a foolish fashion too
can be ignored entirely men by those who
do not wish to incur the reputation of singu-
larity. A little skill in the arrangement
may be made to produce an effect similar to
the prevailing mode, so that the deviation
will not make the wearer remarkable, and she
will win both comfort and respect from fidl-
ing to follow a fashion which she wholly dis-
approves.

It should be remembered, too, by all who
wish to be reasonable in their dress, that its
effect and becomingness do not depend at
all upon its expense. Neatness and appro-
priateness are the first requisites in a dress,
the cost of the material is not material to
the general effect. A plain white collar
leaves the same impression in its relations to
the rest of the dress, that is made by the
most elaborately embroidered one. And it
is the general impression of a dress— the
result produced by the relation and fitness of
its different parts to each other, that excites
admiration and shows good taste, rather
than the beauty of any disconnected pom
of it. The most beautiful garment mi! b9”
incongruously worn, as to make the WW ‘
perfect fright. 1r ladies would study Wm"

  

 

14:6

and appropriateness more, and expense and
variety less, they would be far better dressed
than they are.

And reasonable and right as it is that we
should endeavor, according to our judgment
and our means, to be neatly and appropri-
ately dressed, yet in these days of female
extravagance and ridiculous devotion to
dress, it strikes us that persons of real prin-
ciple will endeavor to keep back, behind the
point of e xpensiveness, and show that the circle
to which they belong are striving to attain,
rather than to keep pace with it; that resist-
ance, instead of conformity, should be the
rule. It is a tide of folly that ought to be
resisted. And while resistance to such an
extent as would make the non-conformist ab~
surd and pointed at by every one might be
worse than useless, the firm and reasonable
resistance of every thinking woman to the
follies and extravagancies of dress would do
a world of good. While it may not be de-
sirable to throw aside all ornament and dec-
oration, it is certainly wise to select such as
are worn for their real value and durability,
and to be satisfied with them just as long as
they will serve their purpose; never allow-
ing yourself to be annoyed because some one
has said, “ It is the same pin she has
worn these ten years," or something of that
kind. So long as the article is in a good
state of preservation, the service it has al-
ready done you may well be considered an
additional item in its value. If it was becom-
ing to you once, it is probably becoming to
you now, unless, indeed, it was very fashion-
able wheu purchased, and is in consequence
very much out of fashion now.

Persons of moderate means, or persons
Who wish to be moderate in dress, should
"ever purchase articles which are conspicu-
ous” fashionable. If the article is a valua-
“blc and dumble one. and you wish to get a
reluonable amount of service out of it, you
WI“ 90011 come to be known by the garment,
mid, M the fashion changes, it will become
still more conspicuous. This rule does not up-
ply to articles destined to comm“ we”, wd
likely to be .worn out before the fashion
changes, for in such cases, if your taste ac-
cords With the fashion, you may gratify both
at the Same tune, But articles intended for
long service should be so selected that that

 

 

EDITOR‘S DEPARTMENT.

fashion is not likely soon to change, or if
changed that the change shall not be very
remarkable.

In the Wearing of ornament, it is best to
attempt to judge only for yourselves, and not
of, or from others. A person may wear an
old-fashioned, or a gaudy ring as a memento
of some friend, and value it, for a reason of
which you can understand nothing. A lady
may wear more ornament on a dress than
she would otherwisehave chosen, from 1110'
tives of economy, covering up with addi-
tional trimming the defects of a dress, til“
Without it would have had to be thrown
aside. And people often object to 611011
dresses, whose objection to the trimming ii
that it is a waste of material, when, ‘in the
case in hand, it may have been a saving 0f
material. It is never best for those who We
moderate in their notions of dress, to obje‘lt
to an article because it has thus far been
adopted only by very fashionable people, for!
possibly, it may be best for your own purpose!
to procure. “She is very guy; she We”.
feathers,” says one; “I never were a '11“
with feathers in my life—I am not so 9."
travagant ; ” when, very probably, the spcfikor
pays twice as much for gay ribbons as the
feathers would have cost, and is obliged ‘0
change them twice as (often, because they
are soiled or out of style. A little milve
skill and good taste will often enable a Per
sonZto appear always well attired, while $110,”
who spend much more time and money ‘0'
their clothing without securing so desirable
a result, will complain of her for her do“?
tion to dress. .

However allowable it may be after llfivmg
secured the first uses of clothing-th
and comfort; to see that it adds t0, rather
than takes from the beauty and symmetry 0
person, still, a is only folly for woman, '1”

Professes to possess both mind and 1103'" w '

rely upon it for her attractiveness. A 095 y
or Showy aPpurel forms but a flimgy cover
ing for an empty head and heart. YO‘ tho,”
whom first thought is of the manan m:
which they shall be attired, who study tho
hats, and collars, and cloaks, ’
they may see, and aim constantly to PM“e
those that are equal or superior to the 
ments worn by their friends, will soon 
that they have neither time nor thought -

and flouncu’ ‘ ,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

..m:~«:.:;;:;:..-..fl  . . A .

EDITOR’S DEPARTMENT. 147

R
my thing else. The manner in which they
Shall be clothed, becomes the all-absorbing
theme of thought and conversation. What-
eltel' gems of mind or graces of spirit they
might otherwise have possessed, are wholly
emptied out and exhausted up0n this worth-
l°§3uess of external show. Such astute of
"mm is certainly not very favorable to the
gmftth of graces of the spirit. They are
entirely given up for that which has no power
of adding to, but much of taking from a wo-
mnls real worth. If she possesses any taste,
the may thus make herself very attractive to
a“ 1:30, and peOpIc may be pleased to look
whezrlas they would at a line picture, but
no m t Icy have done this, they Wish to know
Ore of her, for indeed there is nothing
Enrim know; or, if there is, it is certainly
"mt :frtli knowing. . A lady may show her
of her substantial \‘irtues and the fliinsiness
the co mind, bythe extreme fashion and
surely nstant variation of her dress, just as
“d ‘19:: She could. show her want of taste
gmoua “058 by an ill-.worn, soiled, or incon-
good uglpparel. \\ hile, therefore, we allow
“Ratio ‘0 npd good sense to hold their con-
need n 1:8 With regard to what we wear, they
W 0th: hold them so 'often that onetime
upon Edutics shall he in the least infringed
than ' .00d sense will at once veto any
liféfofhieh reaches beyond our station in
ject. whieh has mere display forhits ob-
- T"? 01' three years ago there was a spir-
‘llfcussion in some of our leading pa-
‘Vith regard to the necessary yearly
“mafia? a lady‘s dress. And a prominent
and in reply to some back country
9 (igfildent perhaps, that his correspond-
ity of l (l); "I‘llic. least understand the qual-
wkdmb: y Hid“?an by these expensive
as mm:~-tlie quality of the lady being
0' it st91:0 depend upon the—wardrobe.
.y be u 1'1 es us that this quality of lady
wronglin understood even by those
.ppmscfiot approve and have no desire to
prpved t'hsucli qualifications. If it can. be
whim“ a “l' a. lady can not move in seeiet)’
I g ‘ Pending two or three thouSand d01-
vev re?“ upon her dress, then there are
. . People in our country who have

f‘pen
Jo

new" ‘0 more in society. If such things

“ppmme to the courts of Europe,

 

they certainly do not indicate a very demo—
cratic republic. And if the term “society ”
is to be nionopolized wholly by these flashing
gas illuminations, then the republican women
of our country must accept their social en-
joyinents under some other title.

There is many a dictate of fashion which
has no foundation in common sense, and
those who follow such dictates without ques-
tioning their foundation, show neither reason
nor common sense. Ifa young lady can not
go out of a winter’s evening without throwing
oil' her warm clothing regardless of her
health or the weather, and attiring herself
in the flimsiest of gossamers, then she had
better remain at home until she has nursed
up strength of mind enough to break over a
foolish law. Uiicounted suffering and loss of
life has resulted from this practice. We
knew a case recently where a young lady
belonging to a consumptive family had to
call in a physician in the early autumn for a
severe cold she had taken. Under the cart-
ful observance of his prescriptions of warm
flannels and highonecked dresses she was
slowly but surely recovering her health, and
called herself nearly or quite well, when in
the middle of the winter she was invited to
a large party which she wished much to at-
tend. And unable to withstand the capriee
which dictated to her the kind of dress she
should wear, she threw ofi‘ thick flannels and
bandages, and puddings, and appeared with
naked neck and arms, in the thinnest of
thin dresses. (if course the cold returned,
and in less than a week from that time they
dug away the heavy snows of winter, and
molded in the frozen earth her final resting-
place. If this were an isolated case it would
be less worthy of remark, but it is only one
among thousands of others.

In our damp and variable climate the use
of flannel next the skin, at least in winter,
can not he too strongly recommended.
From its light and porous texture, it carries
ofi‘ readily the insensible perspiration, and
does not easily become wetted or gather
dampness as other materials are apt to do.
Especially are soft warm woolen hose de-
sirable as a covering for the feet in winter,
for those are the portions of the body m9“
exposed to cold, and most liable to 5!!th
dampness. “ Of all parts of the bodfl’ fl)"

       
     
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
      
     
       
       

148

a high medical authority, “there is not one
the clothing of which ought to be so care-
fully attended to as the feet. The most de-
pendant part of the system, this is the part
in which the circulation of the blood may be
the most readily checked ; the part most ex~
posed to cold and wet, or to good conduct-
ing surfaces, it is the part of the system
where such a check is most likely to take
place. Coldncss in the feet is a very com-
mon attendant on a disordered stomach ; and
yet a disordered stomach is not more apt to
produce coldness of the feet, than coldness
of the feet is apt to produce disorder of the
stomach; and this remark does not only
apply to cases of indigestion, but to many
other disorders to which man is liable. Yet
do we see the young and delicate clad in
thin-soled shoes, and as thin stockings, no
matter whether the Weather is dry or damp,
or whether the temperature of the atmos-
phere is warm'pr cold. * * * Iam suffi-
cient of a (ioth to wish to see thin-soled
shoas altogether disused as articles of dress,
and Iwould have them replaced by shoes
having a moderate thickness of sole, with a
thin layer of cork or felt placed within the
shoe OVer the sole, or next to the feet.
Cork is a very bad conductor of heat, and is
therefore to be preferred.”
a 1-: c l r 1-: s.
F0“ INVALIDS—CONTIXCED.

' Eon Geese—Boil a pint of new milk;
beat four new-laid eggs to a light froth.
When the milk boils, remove it to the side
of the stove, where it will stop boiling, and
pour in the eggs instantly. Stir them all the
while for one or two minutes, but do not let
them boil. Sweeten with the best of leaf
3‘18"; grate in a whole nutmeg, and add a
little salt. Drink a portion of it while warm,
and let the rest cool, as'it is both food and
medicine whether warm or cold. It is said
‘0 b9 excellent in cases of chronic dysentery.

WI" want—'- 30“ a half pint of new
milk, and the moment it comes to aboil pour
in two wine glasses of wine sweetened with
‘ W‘spw‘m" °f 1°“ '“Sfir- Let it remain
perfectly still till the cards form and “mm
Pour ed the whey, and add a pint of boiling
water and loaf sugar to the taste. «pm. i. ‘
strengthening drink in recovery from typhm
or other fevers, or in any case of debfltty.

 

 

RECIPES.

Aaaow Roor Jsan.—— Put a pint of water
in a saucepan to boil; stir up a large spoon-
ful of arrow root powder in a cup of water.
and pour into the saucepan while the water
is boiling; let them boil together two 01‘
three minutes; season with nutmeg and loaf
sugar. This is very light food for an invalid
or an infant. When the system is in a fe’
laxed state, two teaspoonfuls of brandy Wm
add to its efficacy. Milk and loaf sugar boiled
with a spoonful of fine flour, well mixed with
cold water, stirred in while the milk is bOil'
ing, is light and proper food in case of bowel
complaints. In all preparations where milk
is boiled, close care should be taken that the
milk be not scorched. When the milk is
placed upon a stove hot enough for ordinary
cooking, it is only by constant watchfulnea‘
that this will be prevonted ; but if the V953“
containing the milk is placed within anothf!r
of boiling water, the milk will be a little 10'“
gcr in boiling, but will be secure from bun"
ing. Some people have a close-fitting tin
porringer with a tight cover, fitted to the “’9
of a teukettle, in which to make these “we
dishes for infants or sick persons, and i“ t '
way they can be very neatly and safely: ‘5
well as rapidly prepared.

NEW PUBLICATIONS-
SCENEstro‘

PARLOR Duns; on, DRAMATIC I
L a

Horn: Aunssussr. By WILLIAU B. F0"

Boston: MORRIS COTTON.

This work is a companion for
Hundred Dialogues,” that special fav
the school-boys, and consists of a numbefo
original dialogues upon popular subjectlz ‘11
fined for Simple representation: The P e.
“‘3 appropriate for the school room as W
as the parlor, and the work is well '70
the attention of teachers and pupilfl- |
THE Eu:ch MAGAZINE or FOREIGN L ‘

"can. New York: W. H. BIDW‘L‘"

Editor and Proprietor. 

The number for January is before 05: “of.
We are glad to see that this old favorite”.
the public gnu keeps its well-earned re?“ h‘,
tion. It gathers the best portion 0N1” 9‘
stantial foreign journals, and presen“
to us in a compact and eligible form- I
present number is embellished wifll 3‘ in“...
am. of the Emperor of Run-in, and 0‘ i 
Chalmers. Five dollars per snow '

u FOWiG'.
Ol‘lt/e l

 

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